Today's Special is the JerkChicken Salad
by bg Roman
Summary: Getty. 2 years after 4.20. Fleeing a personal and professional crisis in New York, Betty escapes with Hilda to the Bahamas, unexpectedly running into the tanned and fit owner of the cutest, littlest Italian-Bahamian bistro on this side of paradise, Gio.
1. Espresso, Biscotti & The New York Times

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 1: Espresso, Biscotti, and the New York Times

Gio parked his motorcycle around the back of his restaurant and hauled its load, a box containing the day's perishables - fruit, bread, milk, and a newspaper - into the small kitchen, setting it on the little table in the center of the room.

After putting the groceries away, he stepped back out into the warm predawn morning of what promised to be a scorching hot day, and cut ten sprigs of hibiscus blossoms from the fragrant bushes under the kitchen window, taking them into the deserted restaurant's dining room and popping them into the ten glass vases on the bar, lined up and waiting for the flowers.

He took out a cup and saucer, pulled a shot of espresso, and took a biscotti out of the large jar on the bar's counter, laying it on the saucer.

Then Gio sat at the polished wooden bar and picked up that day's newspaper, the New York Times of Wednesday, April 4, 2012.

Scanning the headlines, Gio turned to page five, folding the paper carefully and reading the story intently.

"Betty!" uttered Gio aloud, several times, as he read and reread the article.

His mind whirling in turmoil, Gio pondered the significance of the story's news.

Ignoring the rest of the paper and forgetting his coffee and biscotti, he got up, and, working automatically, thoroughly mopped the dining room's black and white tile floor.

Preoccupied by his turbulent thoughts, Gio continued to wash the floor long after it was perfectly clean.


	2. Mud Cakes

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 2: Mud Cakes

"Hilda, help," screamed Betty.

Jamming on her scooter's brakes, Hilda turned around to see Betty sprawled out on the gravel road, her scooter lying beside her. Thick forest lined both sides of the deserted narrow lane as far as she could see.

"Betty! What happened?" Hilda parked her scooter at the edge of the road and ran to help her.

"Mud!" said Betty, pushing up on her hands and knees. "I slipped on the mud."

Hilda dragged Betty's scooter to the side of the road.

"Don't do that!" cried Betty. "You'll hurt yourself."

Five months pregnant, Hilda cradled her bulging stomach and said, "I'm fine."

"I could've been killed," said Betty, picking gravel off her palms. "I'm lucky no cars were coming. Hilda, get off the road!"

"Don't worry. We haven't seen a car since the turn off two miles ago," said Hilda. "I guess no one comes down to the beach before sunrise."

The sun, radiating intense heat, was peeking over the horizon, heating the close, still air. Betty was already hot and sweaty from the day's warmth and humidity.

"This thing is stupid!"

Betty kicked the scooter's tire which made it spin, snagging the toe of her high-heeled boot under its fender.

"God damn it!" yelled Betty, yanking her foot.

Her boot stuck, making Betty slip and fall into the mud. "Crap!"

"Relax," said Hilda. "Boy, you better clean up your language before the baby comes–"

"Screw off!" said Betty, pushing herself up. "I'm covered in mud."

"Take it easy," said Hilda. "We're on a holiday, remember?"

"Yeah, some holiday," said Betty, checking her blouse.

"Hey," snapped Hilda. "You're the one that barged in! What did you want?"

"I just want to be alone! I didn't pick this god-forsaken island."

"Don't be such a snob!" said Hilda. "The Bahamas is beneath you now? I'm sorry it isn't Monaco."

"Oh, Monaco isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Or wherever it is people who have money to burn go these days."

"Look," said Betty, slapping her thigh with her hand. Her chic, outrageously expensive wool slacks were streaked with mud from hip to ankle.

"Lighten up," scoffed Hilda. "It's kind of funny."

"I look ridiculous!" said Betty, gesturing at her mud-caked pants.

"News flash, you _already_ looked ridiculous," said Hilda. "A silk blouse, wool pants, and spike-heeled boots are ridiculous beach wear."

"I know," said Betty, her eyes brimming with tears. "Don't you think I know that?"

"I offered you my clothes," said Hilda. "You could take anything you wanted."

"I don't want them! I can't be seen in your pregnancy clothes," said Betty, wiping her eyes. "The paparazzi would go nuts."

"Like they aren't already?" asked Hilda. "Just laugh it off."

"Shut up!" said Betty. "I'm the laughingstock of everyone I know and _also_, not to mention, everyone I don't know."

"But it _is_ kind of funny," said Hilda. "Think about it."

"Piss off! You don't understand. Your life is perfect!"

Hilda rolled her eyes, "Yeah, sure. Everyone's is, except yours. You're such a big shot now. You're so stuck up you don't have time for your own family except when you're in trouble."

"I've been busy!"

"You don't realize," snarled Hilda, "how humiliating it is for me, to have to read the newspapers to find out what my baby sister is doing!"

"God damn it, I think my nail is broken."

"What a mouth!" said Hilda. "I get it, you're upset."

"And everything would be a hundred times worse if I looked pregnant. I can just imagine the tabloid headlines."

"Don't torture yourself."

"I used to write headlines," said Betty. "I know exactly how cruel they can be."

"Forget about all that stuff. Enjoy being here. You took a harmless spill and it's funny, okay?"

"I came here because the whole world is laughing at me! So I'm having a little trouble laughing at myself, okay? The guy who invented YouTube should be shot. No. That's too kind. I want it to be something much slower and much more painful."

"Calm down."

"How can I?" cried Betty, examining her fingernails.

Hilda looked at Betty's fingers.

"I better get a manicure when we get to town," said Betty.

"I could do it," offered Hilda.

"Sure, and I'd let you do it too," said Betty, "if I wanted to look cheap. I need a professionally done French polish."

"I'm just trying to help," said Hilda, frowning. "Well, buying you a new wardrobe will be fun. The sky's the limit!"

"Not even you can max out my platinum card, but the stores won't open for hours. How are we going to kill the time?"

"Um, maybe hang out on a beautiful beach in the Bahamas?"

Betty pulled her purse off of the back of the scooter and dug around in it for her phone.

"I'm going to call for a cab."

"Don't. You don't need to," said Hilda. "According to the directions the beach is just around that corner."

"Can we leave the scooters here?" said Betty. "I'm not getting back on that thing."

"We can push them if you want," said Hilda, wheeling her scooter along the road. "Come on, we're almost there, there's the sign."

With her silk blouse soaking wet from perspiration and clinging to her uncomfortably, Betty squatted over the scooter. She jerked it upright and the chain fell off the gears.

"Oh, jeepers!" cried Betty. "Can it get any worse? This rickety piece of junk is busted!"

"Come on," said Hilda. "Just push it this last little bit and we'll call a cab later."

Grumbling, Betty struggled to push her scooter after Hilda.

At the next bend in the narrow lane, the forest parted, revealing an empty white sandy beach and an endless expanse of sparkling aquamarine sea. No one was visible anywhere. A brisk, fresh breeze off the ocean blew through the deep shade of the palm trees, making the temperature drop sharply.

A dramatic contrast to the cacophony of New York, from where she had just traveled, the sight of the idyllic scene accompanied by the cries of seagulls and tropical bird song, charmed Hilda.

"Oh, this is so beautiful!" exclaimed Hilda. "It's just a little farther to the parking lot. I knew this was going to be a nice place! I wish Bobby could see it."

"I really can't appreciate it," said Betty, tugging at the collar of her high-necked blouse. "But it is nice that there is no one around. I'm grateful to be alone."

"That's all? That's all you're grateful for?" asked Hilda. "You call me out of the blue, just as I'm about to step on the plane, and you bump Bobby from my dream vacation!"

"Of course, I'm grateful to you," said Betty. "Thank you for rescuing me. And it was generous of Bobby to step aside."

"Yeah," said Hilda wryly. "It would have been almost noble, if he hadn't jumped at the chance to stay home. Men and their sports!"

"You can come with him another time," said Betty. "I'll pay for it."

"Thanks, but the next time will be a whole different experience because of the baby. I was really looking forward to a romantic-second-anniversary vacation, not a hide-my-sister-from-the-paparazzi thing, or whatever this is. What _is_ this, Betty?"

"It's a 'me trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do about the disaster' thing, or, it could be, if you would only try a little harder, _dearest_ sister, a 'you helping me figure it out' thing."

"Ha, like you'd listen to me."

"Try me."

"You're acting like a big baby."

Stomping her boot in the gravel and clenching her fists, Betty screamed, "I am not! I haven't had a chance to tell you the whole sordid story yet. You don't know."

"I think you're running away from your problems."

"I'm taking a timeout!"

Hilda stared at Betty, arching an eyebrow.

Uttering a frustrated cry, Betty whined, "_Thanks_ for all your help so far. At this rate, God only knows when I'll be brave enough to show my face in New York again."

As they approached the beach's entrance, Hilda spied a tiny ocean-view restaurant at the end of the lane, opposite the park. Nestled between lush palm trees and a tall dense hedge of hibiscus shrubs smothered with enormous scarlet blooms, it was hardly bigger than a shack. It was the first building they'd seen in miles.

Hilda muttered under her breath, "Uh-oh, I didn't know he was right-"

"Oh my God! Look!" exclaimed Betty. "Look at that sign! It's called Giovanni's!"


	3. At Least a Glass of Water

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 3: At Least a Glass of Water

The bright yellow shack had a jaunty green and white awning and a large white sign painted with whimsical pink lettering. The outsized sign said "Giovanni's, The Charm of Italy, Fine Italian, American and Bahamian Cuisine. Warm, Friendly and Cozy Atmosphere. Prompt Service with a Friendly Smile. Family Owned and Operated."

"Giovanni's," said Betty, "with Italian, American, _and_ Bahamian cuisine! That's hilarious."

"It is?" said Hilda.

"I have to take a picture of it for Gio," said Betty, pulling out her phone. "He would think it was funny."

"He would?" said Hilda, wide-eyed. "Why?"

"Only a moron would put that many cuisines into a restaurant smaller than a phone booth."

"It looks perfectly fine," said Hilda.

"It's so pathetic! Do you think it even seats twenty? Gio would get a good laugh out seeing this place." Betty bit her lip and frowned, "Except I don't have his address."

"Okay, forget it," said Hilda, gulping a breath.

"Man, I would literally _kill_ for one of Gio's sandwiches right now."

"I'm hungry too," said Hilda. "But then again, I'm hungry all the time now."

"Too bad I have to lose more weight," said Betty. "Oh, wait, it doesn't matter now."

"Aren't you done with the dieting yet? Betty, you look anorexic!"

"It's never enough. Daniel is around beautiful models all day, every day. And I know they are throwing themselves at him. How can I compete? I have to be more beautiful. I have to be perfect. I was thinking of surprising him by getting a nose job for his birthday."

"Honestly, that's awful. Does he want that? Why don't you talk to me anymore? We've hardly spoken since you got engaged."

"We're so busy with work and travel. And he doesn't like to spend time visiting relatives. He says they are a curse to be endured only when it's unavoidable. He says, 'you can pick your friends but not your relatives and that's the problem with them'."

"Really," said Hilda, disapprovingly.

"It's not his fault. It was the way he was raised. Someday he'll come around."

"You've changed so much for him. What's he done for you?"

Betty pushed her scooter, staring straight ahead. She bit her lip.

"Why are you here?" Hilda waved her arms around, pointing to the palm trees and lush vegetation.

Betty stopped and stared back at Hilda.

"Tell me," demanded Hilda, "How has he changed for you?"

"No comment."

"Betty if you act like a doormat, he will treat you like a doormat. Don't give in all the time."

"I'm trying to be perfect."

"And how's it working so far?"

Hilda focused a piercing gaze on Betty, and waited.

"This is why I should talk to you, isn't it?"

"Bingo."

"Okay, you're right. I was wrong not to call. I'm sorry I didn't return your calls."

"Finally!" said Hilda. "Sometimes I wonder what you see in him, besides the money."

"He got me the job I love," said Betty. "He's very charming. He supports my ambitions. We love to travel. I love Daniel. Although, _obviously_, not at this moment."

"Yeah, I know. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I want to strangle him but I'm pretty sure if I did it wouldn't help the situation."

Hilda and Betty pushed their scooters up to the entrance to the park. When they were directly across the road from the restaurant, Betty stopped and turned to look at it.

"You know, I haven't seen Gio since … I don't remember," said Betty. "I never heard where he went after he closed the deli."

"Did you ever try to find out?"

Betty took out her phone, preparing to take a picture.

"The last time I saw Gio was the day I went in to tell him I was engaged to Daniel. And that was over a year and a half ago. He said his wife was looking at places but he didn't say where. I got the feeling he didn't want me to know."

Betty pointed he phone at the restaurant. "I need to get closer."

"Are you sure you want to take a picture for Gio?" said Hilda.

"No," said Betty, lowering her phone. "Of course not. I'm an idiot."

"Oh?"

"Oh god, I can't have a picture of a restaurant named Giovanni's on my phone," said Betty. "If that got out it might cause a problem."

"It could?"

"You're so naïve," said Betty. "You don't realize how lucky you are."

"I'm lucky?"

"You don't have to worry about how everything can be twisted against you."

"You're paranoid!"

"Self defense. Look, I have a hundred messages from you-know-who," said Betty, staring at her phone and pushing buttons. "Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. …"

"You aren't even going to listen to what he has to say?"

"No. I know what he's going to say and I don't want to hear it. Oh, here's one from the 'Good Morning New York' show. I'll save that one for later."

"What will you say to them?"

"I haven't got a clue," said Betty angrily. "I'll have to think of something polite."

"What's with the attitude? I hardly know you anymore."

Betty pushed several locks of hot, damp hair off her face. "I can't handle what's going on. The tabloid stories are going to be horrible."

"But they always are! You never let it get to you before."

"This is worse," said Betty. "This is the worst of the worst."

"Well, put it out of your mind. Let's leave the scooters here and head down to the water."

Betty laid her scooter down in the middle of the walkway to the beach.

"You're going to leave it right there? The parking area is over there."

"Stop bugging me," cried Betty. "I can't push this piece of junk another step."

"You're going to make everyone walk around it?"

"I don't care. I have to go in that restaurant. It'll be air-conditioned."

"We can't. It's closed," said Hilda, pointing to the sign hanging on the restaurant's front door.

They were close enough to the shack to hear cheerful danceable music, a steel drum band playing a syncopated calypso rhythm, emanating from its open windows, and the sound of a man singing along to it.

"Someone's in there," said Betty. "I want to wash my hands. At the very least we can get a glass of water and sit at a table."

"But I want to be outside. The beach is right here. The restaurant is _closed_."

"Watch me and see how it's done, Hilda. I'll just flash my rock," said Betty, holding up her left arm, on which she wore a chunky gold-chain bracelet, and wiggling her fingers, upon one of which perched a massive multi-caret diamond ring, "and my platinum card. It's like 'open sesame'. It works wonders on the hoi polloi."

"God," said Hilda. "You spend way too much time with Daniel and his arrogant friends."

"Well, since I'm married to him I suppose I do spend a fair bit of time with him, and since all his arrogant friends are now my friends …"

Ignoring Betty, Hilda wheeled her scooter to the designated parking area and then walked back.

Meanwhile, Betty typed a number into her phone.

"I'm going to tell the rental place to pick up the scooters. There's no way I'm going to risk my neck on one of those contraptions again. Then we'll go in."

"Uh, Betty, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"Later," said Betty, holding her phone to her ear, "Hi, I'm Betty Meade and I rented two crappy scooters from you."

"Um, Betty," said Hilda.

"_No_," said Betty sharply into her phone, waving her hand at Hilda to indicate she should go ahead. "I can _not_ hold-"

"Okay, I'll see if they'll open up," said Hilda.

Listening to her phone, Betty spoke to Hilda, "If you see any New York papers, hide them. I don't want to see the headlines."

"Then don't look at them."

"If they're there, I'll have to look at them."

"I'll try the restaurant," said Hilda, crossing the road. "But I'm sure it's closed."


	4. Welcome to my Restaurant

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 4: Welcome to my Restaurant

"Hello?" yelled Hilda, knocking on the restaurant's door. The sound of singing stopped.

"It's open," yelled Gio from the kitchen. "I'll be there in a minute."

Hilda pushed the door open and let herself into the cool air-conditioned dining room. She had never been in Gio's restaurant before but she had heard about it.

Morning sunshine poured through the white lace curtains covering the windows and the golden light gave the quaint furnishings in the room a warm glow. Hilda could see about ten tiny, black, wrought-iron tables, with a pair of matching chairs stacked upside down on each of them, squeezed into the small room.

At the far end of the room on a long, polished-wood bar, sat a large grey cat and ten glass vases holding sprigs of scarlet hibiscus flowers. The sunlight streamed through the glass vases throwing prisms of colors onto a mirror behind the bar. Dozens of multicolored liquor bottles in different shapes and sizes were lined up on a shelf just below the mirror. There was a large jar of biscotti beside a professional stainless steel espresso machine at one end of the bar.

The walls of the room were decorated with damaged and broken surf boards, painted in a rainbow of glossy neon colors in geometric shapes, stripes, and floral patterns. The immaculate black and white tiled floor glistened, still wet from a recent washing, a mop and bucket were pushed up against the wall. Hilda hesitated to take another step on the perfectly clean floor.

"Careful about the floor," Gio called out from the kitchen. "It's wet."

Hilda called back in a loud whisper, "Gio! It's me, Hilda."

"Hilda!" cried Gio excitedly, emerging from the kitchen, carrying a saucer. "I didn't expect you this early."

"Shush," said Hilda. "We just landed a couple of hours ago. I have to explain…"

Gio set the saucer on the bar in front of the cat, which nonchalantly ignored it, carefully licking his paws.

Hilda stared at Gio. She hadn't seen him in two years and his appearance had changed dramatically.

With long, sun-bleached brown hair brushing his shoulders and small gold hoop earrings in both ears, stubble-faced Gio stood before her barefoot, dressed in a pair of board shorts, a white terrycloth bar towel tucked into the waistband, his body tanned and well-muscled from his fanatical surfing addiction.

"Gio!" said Hilda, eyes sparkling, smiling broadly, and gazing intently at him. "You look so _good_."

"You do too," said Gio, grinning at her warm smile and scanning his eyes over her protruding belly. "You're positively glowing."

"Aw," said Hilda, running across the wet floor and embracing him with a warm hug.

Gio clamped his strong arms around her, and purred in her ear, "Hey, Hilda, you're so beautiful. Bobby is one lucky man. Why didn't we ever … you know … get together? I must have been crazy, letting you get away." Gio slid his hands over her back warmly.

"Gio, you shameless flatterer," laughed Hilda, squeezing him back. "Boy, you sure know how to make an old, married woman like me feel as giddy as a girl! These days I feel about as sexy as a whale!"

"Sexiest whale ever!" laughed Gio, looking at the restaurant's door. "Where's Bobby?"

"Okay, there's a problem," said Hilda. "Quick, can you lock the door? And don't answer any knocks. I'll call you later."

"Why?" said Gio.

"I have to fill you in," said Hilda. "Plans changed since we last talked."

"Don't worry," said Gio. "I can handle anything. I'm closed up today so we can do whatever you want whenever you want. I want to take you all around the island and show you the hidden treasures only the locals know about."

"Wonderful!" said Hilda, grabbing Gio's arm and dragging him to the front door. "I want to do that, but not now. You have to lock me out and pretend you're not here."

"I don't know what kind of game we're playing," said Gio, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, "but I'm in!"

"Thanks, I'll call you later."

"We have so much to catch up on," said Gio, reaching out to grasp the doorknob "I haven't seen you since London, the day I crashed your bachelorette party, when you were with …"

Just as Gio's hand touched the handle, Betty pushed the door open.

"… Betty!" exclaimed Gio, astonished to see her.

"Gio?" cried Betty, even more astonished to see him.

"Oh, hey, Betty!" squealed Hilda gaily. "Isn't it unbelievable? This is Gio's place!"

Surprised, Gio turned to look at Hilda, wondering why she was pretending she had just discovered it was his place. "Huh?"

"Oh, uh," said Hilda, rushing to explain, her words spilling over each other. "You see, at the last minute, Bobby couldn't come so Betty agreed to come with me! Isn't that fun?"

Betty didn't hear what Hilda said because her attention was completely focused on Gio. He was stunning, and sexy, and even worse, a thing she was ashamed to admit she enjoyed the sight of, nearly naked. He looked like a model in a men's fragrance advertisement, relaxed and confident, supremely comfortable in his skin. He was all tanned skin. Tanned skin and muscles. She looked at him again. She had never noticed how handsome he was before. She shouldn't notice now, she thought, but then, who would it harm, to notice?

And she would bet big money he was going commando under those shorts. She was ashamed to catch herself mentally filling in the details. The strands of his hair fell carelessly across his forehead and his long locks formed a wave that broke just at his earlobes revealing small hoop earrings. She had a sudden urge to run her fingers through his silky hair and over his rough chin and smiling lips. She became aware he was studying her with those familiar, penetrating, yet gentle, brown eyes. Flustered, she wondered if he could tell what she was thinking.

"Gio! Your hair," whispered Betty, putting a hand to her burning cheek. "Gio … earrings?"

Gio stared back at the bizarre sight of a wide-eyed, disheveled, and perspiring Betty, flabbergasted to see her in his restaurant without warning and in such a state. And she looked so different from before! Beautifully styled thick tousled hair cascaded over her shoulders and a fashionable silk blouse drenched in sweat clung to the contours of her skinny body. Her exquisitely tailored wool slacks were caked with mud and her boots were muddy too.

She looked completely different, and yet when he gazed into her bewitching brown eyes clouded by confusion and panic he fell under the same old spell. Sweet and vulnerable, she was in trouble, making his heart melt. A powerful feeling of déjà vu swept over him. When had he seen her face like this before? His heart contracted, making him gasp. The deli! Betty, lying on the floor in a pool of shattered glass, handcuffed, imploring him for help. One glance, an instant, was all it took to demolish the years of arduous effort trying to forget her. He was as hopelessly in love with her as ever and would do anything in his power to help her.

"Betty," said Gio gruffly, giving her a quick awkward hug. "It's great to see you! Welcome to the Bahamas! Welcome to my restaurant."

Overwhelmed and caught off-guard by the sight of him, Betty gaped at Gio, speechless.

"Come on Betty," said Hilda. "Aren't you happy to see Gio?"

"Hi," said Betty, automatically holding out her hand. "Uh … so nice to see you."

She felt like an idiot, she wanted to hug him but she had extended her hand instead. When she realized it, she couldn't decide whether it was too late to switch to a hug.

"This is a surprise!" she stammered. It slowly dawned on her that he had already hugged her and she'd botched the greeting completely.

Observing Betty's discomposure with concern, Gio grasped her outstretched hand tenderly. "Would you like to sit down?"

With his other hand, Gio grabbed a chair off a table and placed it behind Betty. He guided her to it and she sank down gratefully.

"Betty, you look amazing!" Without letting go of her hand or looking away, Gio picked up another chair, flipping it upright and placing it beside Hilda.

"Laser eye surgery," choked Betty. She withdrew her hand from Gio's and pushed the hair away from her mud-streaked face. "I don't need glasses anymore."

She was dirty, but her eyebrows were artfully tweezed and her face was thin. When dressed up and in full makeup, she looked prettier than Hilda.

Her hands over her face, Gio couldn't avoid seeing the huge diamond ring and wedding band on her finger. He wondered if she was purposely showing them to him. He already knew about her marriage to Daniel a year prior. The day after the wedding the news and pictures had been in the New York Times, which he read every day.

Betty noticed Gio looking at her rings and slumped forward, dropping her hands on the table. Her chunky gold bracelet clanked loudly on the wrought iron and she looked down at her filthy hands and broken fingernail. She felt terrible. What a disaster. She had just traveled over a dozen hours to the farthest corner of the remotest Bahamian island trying to hide herself from the world, and she bumped into someone she knew from New York.

And not just anyone.

Gio.

Beautiful. Married. Happy. Gio.


	5. Untouched Biscotti

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 5: Untouched Biscotti

Gio was the last person Betty wanted to see when her life was going down the tubes. How could she hide the truth from him? He always knew her too well.

"Oh god, what am I doing here?" wailed Betty. "How did this happen?"

Hilda sat down beside Betty and grabbed her hand.

"Gio, can you bring us some water? The flights were grueling, and then, uh, there was a mix up about her luggage, and she fell off her scooter. We've been through a huge ordeal and Betty's exhausted."

Betty squeezed Hilda's hand tightly. As soon as Gio was out of the room she pleaded to Hilda, "Help me! Get me out of here."

"No, we're on holiday, Betty. Let's try to have some fun."

"I can't!" whined Betty. "Not with him around."

"Come on, it's just Gio, you'll be fine."

"He looks different! I hardly recognize him."

"He's the same nice guy he always was."

"But I can't let him see me like this," cried Betty. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Betty, get a grip on yourself! It's not that bad."

"But what will people think when they find out I visited Gio?"

"No one will know," said Hilda.

"They _will_ find out," cried Betty. "How did this happen? This is _your_ fault!"

"It was an accident," said Hilda. "We'll tell them it's an accident."

"I don't know," said Betty, covering her face. "I don't know!"

"Snap out of it," said Hilda gaily. "Gio wants to show us around and it'll be fun. It'll take your mind off everything. And you want that, right?"

"Yes," said Betty. "I guess so. But what am I going to tell him about …?"

"Nothing. You don't have to tell him anything."

"I don't?"

"No. He won't know about it and he doesn't have to find out about it." Hilda pointed towards the bar at the back, where the cat was sitting, and said cheerfully, "Hey, Gio has a cat! Do you want to pet it?"

"I'm not a _baby_!" said Betty, standing up and walking to the bar. She sat on a bar stool beside the purring cat and stroked it, murmuring, "Aren't you a pretty kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty …"

With a bundle of clean clothes tucked under his arm, Gio emerged from the kitchen and set down several bottles of chilled water and a dish of lemon wedges on the bar. He put the clothes on the bar and walked around behind the bar to get out three glasses, setting them in front of Betty.

"I didn't know if you wanted sparkling or still, so I brought both."

Hilda opened a bottle of sparkling water and poured it out. Betty stopped petting the cat and drank hers up quickly. Hilda poured her more.

"You like Pickles?" said Gio to Betty.

"Um," said Betty, puzzled that he was asking her this. "Of course I like pickles."

"The cat, I mean," said Gio. "I call him Pickles."

"You call your pet, Pickles?" exclaimed Betty. "That's so _cute_!"

"No! He's not my pet," said Gio stiffly. "We have a business relationship."

"Oh?" said Betty. "What do you mean by that?"

"The deal is, I feed him, and he takes care of the rats."

"Eww, rats?" said Hilda, looking disgusted.

"No, there're no rats, he's good!" Gio chucked the cat under the chin affectionately, and cooed to him, "We never have a rodent problem in this place, do we Pickles?"

"He's gorgeous _and_ he's good," said Hilda, petting the cat.

"So, what's up with Bobby?" asked Gio.

"Volunteer work," said Hilda. "Unexpectedly, the team he coaches made it into the league finals and he wanted to stay with them. He hated to come away because the kids love him. They wanted him there."

"Wow, dedicated," said Gio. "He chose _coaching_ over your anniversary vacation?"

"Yeah," said Hilda, sighing. "But, it's not like our anniversary's going anywhere, right?"

"Come back anytime," said Gio.

"You bet!" said Hilda. "After the baby comes."

"How's it going?" asked Gio.

"Good." Hilda patted her stomach. "I hope to have a boy this time."

Gio and Betty stared at her.

"I mean, a boy that likes sports."

"We're staying at the Azalea Lodge," said Betty. "You know it?"

"Of course," said Gio. "It's the best kept secret on the island. I recommend it to everybody." He'd recommended it to Hilda and Bobby for their anniversary vacation.

Hilda stepped back so she could wave at Gio, unseen by Betty, and indicate he should keep quiet.

"Hilda said she found it on the trip advisor website," said Betty.

"I did," said Hilda, sitting back on her bar stool. "It got tons of rave reviews."

"Then why did Gio call it a secret?"

"It's the best kept secret everyone knows about," said Gio lamely, glancing at Hilda. He really needed a chance to talk to her privately.

"So, when do you open?" asked Betty, putting her empty glass on the bar and looking around for a menu. "I'm hungry."

"I'm closed for the occasion," said Gio. "So, I can make you anything you want."

"What occasion?" asked Betty.

Behind Betty, Hilda gestured at Gio, shaking her head and drawing a finger across her neck.

"Um," said Gio, puzzled, looking at Hilda for hints.

Hilda gestured with more emphasis but Gio still had no idea what she meant; only that he should not continue with what he was about to say, which was that their arrival was the occasion.

"Uh, here's a menu," said Gio, handing her one, and trying to intuit from Hilda's gestures what she wanted him to say. "But, I can make you anything."

"What's the occasion?" asked Betty. "Is today special?"

"It _is_ … it's …" said Gio, stalling, thinking frantically, and looking at Hilda for clues.

Betty noticed Gio was looking at Hilda and turned around. When Hilda saw Betty start to turn she dropped her purse on the floor and quickly ducked down.

"Wednesday," said Gio, giving up on Hilda. "It's Wednesday today, so I'm closed."

"A day of the week?" asked Betty, turning back to Gio. "That's the occasion?"

"Hump day," said Gio cheerfully, pumping his fist into the air.

"Hump day?" said Betty.

"Yup, everything after this is downhill!"

"High five!" said Hilda, popping up and slapping palms with Gio.

They chanted to each other, "Happy hump day!" and danced a little jig.

"Bahamians sure are odd," said Betty, shaking her head, "celebrating Wednesday by taking the day off."

"We know how to take it easy here." Gio remembered the fresh clothes and said, "Now, I think you should get out of those muddy things."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable walking around in my underwear," said Betty, pointedly looking at Gio's body, "like _some people_."

"Not underwear, board shorts … surfing gear," said Gio. He smirked and posed, showing off his sculpted abs.

"Oooh!" squealed Hilda in approval.

Betty snorted.

"Don't waste your breath trying to deny it," said Gio to Betty. "I can tell you like what you see."

"Puffed up peacock!" teased Betty, eyes sparkling. "You're distracting me, that's all."

"You want me to put an apron on?" said Gio. "I wasn't expecting guests so early."

"On your day off?" said Betty, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I meant, on my day off," said Gio. He gave Hilda a puzzled glance, and then looked back to Betty. "Give me your muddy clothes and I'll wash them."

"No need to trouble yourself. I'll get these dry-cleaned after I buy some new things."

"It's no trouble," said Gio.

"Gio," cried Betty. "I _said_ I don't want to walk around half naked until then."

"Don't knock it till you try it," said Gio, picking up the bundle of clothes from the counter. "You wouldn't believe how much I save on dry-cleaning!"

Hilda and Betty laughed. Betty couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed and she was surprised at how good it made her feel.

"Take these clothes," said Gio, holding them out. "And I can get you some flip-flops out of the lost and found." Gio pointed to a door behind the bar. "There's a shower behind there. Give me your clothes and I'll wash them and hang them on the line out back."

"Gio, I don't want to be a bother," said Betty. "I'll take care of it later. As soon as the stores open up I can buy some new things."

"That's hours from now," said Gio. "And a shower will do you good."

"It's a good idea," said Hilda, taking the clothes from Gio. "Come with me, Betty. I'll do a temporary fix on your nail."

Betty and Hilda grabbed their purses and went into Gio's bathroom.

"See," said Hilda, filing Betty's rough fingernail. "Didn't I tell you Gio's a nice guy?"

"Yes, you're right. Gio's a good friend. All my other friends are Daniel's friends and, today, I really need my own friend."

Soon, her thirst quenched and cooled by the welcome spray of the shower, Betty began to feel much better. She considered that the day might not turn out as bad as she had thought. What an amazing coincidence that after traveling so many miles they'd end up walking straight into Gio's restaurant! It was such a quirky and delightful little restaurant. And Gio didn't know what was going on, which made it the perfect escape.

She salivated at the thought of breakfast. She was starving and anything Gio made her was bound to be delicious. She was shocked by how much she was looking forward to spending the day with him. She regretted that they'd lost touch with each other after they'd gotten married. Not that she would have kept in touch with him anyway. Gio lived in the Bahamas, a no go zone. Daniel said no one who was anyone came here anymore, but she knew the real reason he avoided it was because of her history here with Matt.

She had to be careful not to be seen with Gio, because that would look bad. It would, of course, be taken the wrong way. No one would believe she came here by chance. She could imagine the tabloid headlines, they'd scream something like 'Meade runs from marriage crisis into the arms of her former lover!' And they'd accompany the story with an incriminating photograph, which would be any photograph with both of them in it, and that other picture, the one taken almost four years ago, of Gio kissing her in the deli, which Amanda and Marc had emailed to every Mode employee. Four years later, that picture was still easy to find on Google images.

No one would care that they weren't actually former lovers. This error would never be acknowledged nor corrected.

While Betty was busy in the bathroom, Gio and Hilda took her silk blouse, wool slacks, and boots into the kitchen to clean them, laughing and joking and catching up with each other.

After finishing with her shower, Betty looked around the good-sized bathroom; it was neat and tidy, and since she could only see masculine items in it she could tell Gio's wife never used it. She toweled herself off and dressed in the white spaghetti-strapped tank top and bright floral print sarong skirt that Gio had given her. The cute lace frill of her red bra peeked over the neckline of the tank top and she felt pretty and fresh. She let her hair hang wet, enjoying the coolness of it dripping on her skin. She didn't know how to tie the sarong securely so she just wrapped it around herself twice and tucked the end in like she would for a towel.

Barefoot, Betty padded out of the bathroom and paused behind the bar. On its lower counter she saw a small china cup full of espresso gone cold and an untouched biscotti laying on its saucer and a newspaper. The Wednesday, April 4, 2012 edition of the New York Times. The paper was folded open to page five. She leaned over to scan the headlines.

The top story was about her.

Sucker-punched by the full force of her appalling predicament, Betty screamed.


	6. Hurling Whiskey

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 6: Hurling Whiskey

Betty, Hilda and Gio were seated around one of the tiny wrought iron tables in the dining room. Hilda had the newspaper folded in front of her. Gio had already read the article but Hilda and Betty had not seen it yet. Hilda was eager to know what it said but Betty felt only trepidation about it. Despairing, Betty had her elbows on the table and her face in her hands.

Betty looked forlorn and distressed and Gio wished he could hug her and give her a shoulder to cry on. He was captivated by how pretty she was with her wet, disheveled hair dripping on the white tank top, its scoop neck exposing a flash of red bra and alluring cleavage. He wanted to hold her and comfort her but he knew it would not be appropriate. He wished she could relax and enjoy her visit to his restaurant and not have to worry about the calamity that had brought her there.

All Gio could think of to do was to try to cheer her up. He loved to see her laugh, and he had always joked and kidded with her in the old days. He must lighten her mood. He decided that was how he could best help her. She was in a horrible situation but he must figure out a way to make her laugh about it.

"Ready?" said Hilda.

"No," said Betty. "But I never will be. Start."

Hilda read:

"Meade Melee Puts Bid for UN Post in Peril' – Reuters – April 4, 2012. Story by Alain Jeffries, staff reporter"

"Nice use of the word melee, wouldn't you say?" said Gio, calmly. "Alliteration, clever."

"Gio! Whose side are you on?" said Betty, blushing and covering her face with her hands. "Read it."

Hilda read:

"Meade Foundation Chief Executive Officer Betty Meade's candidacy for membership on the seminal 'Oppressive Cultures and Women' task force in the UN assembly was dealt a possibly fatal blow yesterday when she triggered a security incident yesterday evening on a KLM transatlantic flight between Heathrow and JFK airports."

Betty groaned. "Go on."

Hilda read:

"Numerous first-hand accounts claim that mid-way during the flight, and in full view of cabin crew and passengers, Ms. Meade, 28, proceeded to give her husband of one year, Daniel Meade, Editor-in-Chief of Mode Magazine, a very public dressing down over a suspected infidelity. The flight's head steward was forced to take extraordinary measures to contain the disturbance and airport ground crew delayed the deplaning of all 237 passengers for nearly an hour to allow marshals to perform all the necessary security protocols."

"You're a feisty one, no one will doubt it now," said Gio cheerfully.

"Read," said Betty, silencing Gio with a wave of her hand.

Hilda read:

"Within hours of the flight's touchdown several amateur videos of the spectacle were posted on YouTube, some going viral within minutes. At the time this article went to press a search in YouTube of 'Meade Meltdown' found over a dozen different videos of the scene."

"Meltdown," said Gio. "Another alliteration. The name Meade really works."

"Shut up," said Betty, punching Gio's shoulder.

"Did you see the video?" asked Hilda.

"No," said Gio. "I would've but I don't have internet."

"Apparently it's really something," said Hilda. "We haven't seen it but Bobby texted me."

"I'd like to see it," said Gio. "Betty, show me what happened."

"Are you nuts?" said Betty. "I'm trying to _forget_ what happened!"

"Face it," said Gio. "You won't be able to. So, you might as well come to terms with it. It sounds like you were quite entertaining."

"By all accounts," said Hilda. "Come on, Betty. How about a reenactment?"

"Yeah, do it," said Gio encouragingly.

"Oh, alright," said Betty, sighing, and standing up. "Things can't get any worse than they already are."

"Okay, you'll be Daniel," said Betty, walking to Gio's side.

Gio looked up at her from his chair and pretended to cower.

Betty laughed, "Sit up. You don't know what I'm going to do to you yet!"

Gio straightened up.

"First, I scream," said Betty. She screamed out Daniel's full name with disgusted rage.

Gio covered his ears.

"For future reference," said Betty, "this is not a good opening for something you don't want people to videotape."

Gio looked up at Betty and folded his hands on his lap.

"Then I grab your whiskey and I hurl it into your face." Betty snatched at the air above Gio's hand and flung her open hand at his face.

Gio shrank back, crossing his hands in front of his face, palms out.

Betty shouted loudly and angrily, "Why you no-good, lying, cheating, two-timing, _bastard!_"

"Sounds like a country song," said Gio, grinning and putting his hands down.

Betty giggled and, grabbing his shoulders, shoved him onto the floor. She stood over him, one foot on either side of his body, leaning down and holding her fist in his face.

"You son of a bitch!" shouted Betty. "Don't you ever, _ever_-"

"Help me, Hilda!" Writhing in mock terror, Gio covered his head with his arms, making Betty laugh.

"That's about the point when the first cabin steward became involved."

"There was more than one?" exclaimed Gio, looking up at her from the floor.

"Oh, yeah," said Betty. "If my name started with an 'f' they would've called it a fracas."

You go girl, thought Gio, laughing exuberantly.

"That's about it," said Betty, sitting down. "That's the best part anyway. In the next part you'd wrestle me to the floor while I yell at you, punch you, and try to kick your butt."

"Mmm," growled Gio. "That might be fun."

Betty laughed. "It's not nearly as much fun as it sounds."

Gio got up from the floor. "Are you Tiger Woods-ing me?" he said in falsetto, mimicking Betty's voice. "Don't you _dare_ transgress on me!"

Betty and Hilda laughed.

"I don't think my version will make a good country song," said Gio, sitting on his chair. "So, you win."

Betty chuckled, and said, "Read more."

Hilda read:

"Ms. Meade was returning to New York from chairing the summit 'Education is for ALL Girls', in Vienna, Austria, for an interview on 'Good Morning New York' tomorrow. Doubts are being raised as to whether or not she will appear, due to the sudden departure of Ms. Meade from New York. Immediately after she was released from security at JFK, she was seen entering the international boarding gates with an unidentified companion."

"That would be me," said Hilda. "Unidentified companion!"

Gio turned to Betty. "You should go on TV. Don't skip it. If you catch a flight tonight you can make it back to New York in time."

"I don't want to," said Betty. "I just want to avoid everything."

"The best damage control is to wade back in and climb in the saddle."

"Mixed metaphor," said Betty, smiling.

"I can't get anything by you," said Gio, grinning and winking at her.

"Read it," said Betty.

Hilda read:

"Pundits have long considered Ms. Meade a virtual shoe-in for the UN post due to her notable compassion, dedication, intelligence and expertly honed word-smithing skills. Ms. Meade, a college-educated Mexican-American woman from a working-class single parent family, spent her distinguished career climbing the ranks at two top ranked magazines at a rapid pace, proving that, while young in age she is a gifted tactician, making her an eminently suitable candidate for this particular Task Force.

"New York City's Homelessness Committee Chair Sarah Rodriguez said, 'Ms. Meade is a tireless advocate for the disadvantaged. Always well-respected, well-liked, tactful, polite, and kind, she is a woman with a remarkable personality, driven by passion and her oft-cited personal mantra: I want to make the world a better place.'"

"Aw," said Gio. "See, this story isn't all bad. I wish I had a personal mantra."

Betty sat up straight. "Am I still a 'virtual shoe-in'?"

"Everyone likes you," said Hilda, paraphrasing Sally Field's widely ridiculed Oscar acceptance speech. "They really, really like you."

Everyone laughed.

"Read," said Betty.

Hilda read:

"Almost immediately, several women came forward to allege illicit affairs with Mr. Meade, who traveled to Vienna with Ms. Meade for a ski holiday, but their names are being withheld until after the investigation confirming the veracity of their claims is complete."

"Bummer," said Gio. "But everyone knows those ladies are getting paid by the tabloids. They're lying. Note the use of the word 'allege'. It couldn't happen to _you_."

"Well," said Hilda, "it happened to a Swedish model and to Sandra Bullock."

Gio frowned at Hilda.

Hilda said, "I'm just saying."

"Sandra's a beautiful movie star!" cried Betty. "I'm fat and ugly."

"No," breathed Gio and Hilda, leaning towards Betty. "No!"

Her face blotchy from distress, Betty frowned. Elbows on the table, chin on her hands, she leaned in close to them, and whispered, "I'm going to let you in on a piece of insider information."

Gio and Hilda listened attentively.

"I know at least one woman is not lying."

Gio and Hilda gasped.

"Poor baby," said Hilda, patting Betty's hand.

Gio looked at Betty sympathetically. It tortured him to see her in pain. What kind of man would cheat on her? He clenched his fists and imagined punching Daniel's lights out. Someone might be able to make a joke about this, but Gio could not. Making light of this despicable act was impossible.

"Go on," said Betty.

Hilda read:

"The UN's 'Oppressive Cultures and Women' Task Force champions women's rights to equal education, family planning, healthcare, and other basic human rights, focusing on issues specific to countries where the cultural climate against women is particularly oppressive."

"This is what I want to do," said Betty. "This work will be the most important thing I could ever do! I have a lot to offer and I care about these issues so much."

"You're so passionate about this," said Gio, his face shining with pride. "It's truly admirable."

"It was destiny! I was meant to be on this committee. I feel it in my bones! I would've helped to so many women by being on it."

"It's not lost yet," said Gio, smiling encouragingly. "Don't give up."

"Read on," said Betty. Sighing, she pushed the hair back from her face and rested her arms on the table.

Hilda read:

"An anonymous UN insider leaked that confidence in Ms. Meade's candidacy is plummeting and her bid may be irreparably damaged if she fails to appear on 'Good Morning New York' tomorrow. Other sources reveal attention has shifted to her chief rival, Rajpal Singh, 72, a Pakistani-born Sikh woman raised in London, England, who, although not as highly educated as Ms. Meade, is considered an extremely experienced and skilled negotiator, selfless and dedicated, and has often been compared favorably to Mother Theresa."

"That's it," said Hilda.

"Mother Theresa," wailed Betty. "I love Rajpal, everyone loves her. And she's done so much already she's practically a saint. But I want a chance! Oh, how can I compete with a Mother Theresa?"

"I think you're a way better choice," said Hilda. "I'm sure lots of people do."

"But what chance do I have after making such a fool of myself? Everyone is watching me on YouTube and laughing at me."

"No, they aren't," said Hilda. "I bet every woman on the planet has either torn a strip off their husband at one time or another or wished they did. A lot of the people watching the video are not laughing at you, they're cheering for you. You really laid into him."

"Really?" said Betty. "You think so?"

"You're an inspiration," said Gio. "And go for the sympathy vote. Milk it! Go on TV and keep your chin up. Show them what you're made of. Talk to them about how much this task force means to you, like you did just now. That'll get people's attention. Then they'll see how amazing you are."

"I don't know," said Betty. "I'm not sure I'm ready to face Daniel, New York, the tabloid paparazzi, and a TV show yet. I don't want to leave the Bahamas until I make a decision about Daniel. Am I going to leave him? If he doesn't change, I will. I'm too angry to think about him. I don't want to talk about it yet."

"Then we'll talk about it after we eat," said Gio, standing up. "Who's interested in hearing about the breakfast specials at Giovanni's?"

"Me!" screamed Betty and Hilda, clapping their hands gleefully and jumping up.


	7. Burger and Fries for Breakfast?

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 7: Burger and Fries for Breakfast?

"Right this way," said Gio, ushering Betty and Hilda towards the kitchen, "for a breakfast extravaganza!"

"Hilda, do you have a hair clip?" said Betty, gathering her wet hair around her hand.

"No," said Hilda, digging through her purse, "I don't."

"I know where I've got one," said Gio, stepping behind the bar. He flipped a switch turning the music on and they all bopped to the calypso beat while Gio pulled out a drawer under the counter and rummaged among the flashlights, batteries, screwdrivers, can openers, and other odds and ends in it, looking for the hair clip he'd seen there.

"Here it is," said Gio triumphantly, holding up a large hair clip and snapping it.

Bunching up her hair onto the back of her head, Betty turned around so Gio could release the clip onto her hair.

When Betty paused to look at her hair in the mirror behind the bar, Gio took a sprig of hibiscus blossoms from a vase and leaned into her, carefully threading the stem into the hair beside her face.

Laughing gaily at her enchanting reflection, Betty felt the sarong loosening. Grabbing her skirt, she asked, "Do you have a belt I can borrow?"

"You're supposed to tie it with a knot," explained Gio. "Like this." Standing behind her, he reached his arms around her waist, took the loose ends of the skirt from her hands and quickly tied them securely.

Surrounded by Gio, his hair brushing her cheek, Betty breathed in deeply, enjoying the fragrance of hibiscus blossoms and him, a heady mixture of tropical flowers, ocean breezes, sand, and salt. Knees suddenly weak, she steadied herself by putting a hand on his arm.

"Now you look like you belong here," said Gio, stepping back to admire her. "Now you're one of us."

"Thank you," squeaked Betty, blushing and giggling giddily. Afraid he might accuse her of flirting, she added, "Gio, are these your wife's clothes?"

"No, these are from my lost and found. Because of the beach, I end up with lots of spare things."

Humming along to the steel drum music, Gio put his hands on Betty's hips and danced her towards the kitchen. "Not wife, Betty, ex-wife."

"What?" Betty stopped dancing and stared sternly at Gio.

"Ex-wife," said Gio, taken aback by Betty's surprise. "I'm divorced."

"You're not married?"

"Not anymore," said Gio, glancing between Betty and Hilda. "You didn't hear?"

"When were you going to tell me this?" demanded Betty.

"How come," demanded Gio right back at her, "ever since you _dumped_ me, you seem to expect me to immediately inform you of my relationship status?"

"But this is terrible!" cried Betty, panicked. "You're single! This will be a public relations disaster. Hilda, why didn't you know?"

"I knew," said Hilda, shrugging her shoulders, "and I was going to tell you, but you never gave me a chance."

Flustered, Betty turned to Gio and yelled, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Indignant, Gio stood in front of Betty, hands on his hips, and thundered, "Sure, I'll tell you! How about this? … Hi Betty, what a surprise to see you in London! By the way, you'll be interested to know, I'm engaged … Hi Betty, what a surprise to see you in the Bahamas! By the way, you'll be interested to know, my wife left me for another man!"

Betty gaped at Gio.

"There," said Gio bitterly, "Happy now?"

"Oh, no," gasped Betty, instantly contrite, "of course not! I'm sorry. When did it happen?"

"Shortly after we arrived in the Bahamas. I should have been suspicious when our realtor took her to see every last restaurant on every last beach on every last one of the islands. She left me for him, and then they took me to the cleaners. This little place was the best I could get after it was all over."

"Why didn't you come back to New York?" asked Betty. "You should have come back!"

"There was nothing for me there," said Gio, glaring intently at Betty. "Was there?"

"Oh," said Betty.

"And, in any case, my money was gone."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Gio picked up a couple of chairs, "Come on, let's eat in the kitchen."

Leading the way, Gio carried the chairs from the dining room into the kitchen. A small table, a fridge, a stove, and a low cabinet were crammed into the small space. Gleaming pots and pans hung from hooks on the walls, sparkling in the morning sunlight streaming through the large windows, which overlooked several fragrant hibiscus shrubs.

Gio set the chairs at the table, gallantly pushing them under Betty and Hilda as they sat down. Then he went and stood behind it at the stove, taking an apron off a hook on the wall, slinging it over his neck, and tying it behind his back.

Gio saw Betty staring at him and gestured at his apron-clad body. "Is there something wrong? Aren't you glad I'm covering up?"

Paradoxically, because the apron was now fully covering his shorts, Gio appeared more naked than before, disconcerting Betty.

"Um, I guess so," sputtered Betty, blinking, still reeling from his unexpected news. He wasn't married! Not only was he more handsome than ever, he was single! How was it possible that his wife had left _him_? It was inconceivable!

Hilda smiled to see the pair exchange awkward glances.

Betty blurted out, "Uh, what should we eat?"

"Anything."

"You'll have to give me a minute to think," said Betty. "I want everything so I'm having trouble deciding."

"Take your time," said Gio, turning to go into the pantry. "I'll get some fruit."

When Gio turned around, Betty's eyes were drawn to his posterior, unable to resist the urge to check that he still had something on, under the apron.

Returning with bananas, mangoes, melons, and a pineapple, Gio pulled out a large knife and checked its razor sharp edge, then gazed at Betty, wondering what she wanted.

"Gio, why don't you come back to New York?" said Betty. "What about your dreams?"

"I have everything I need here," said Gio firmly.

"Except a wife," said Betty.

"Someone will turn up," said Gio, eyeing Betty.

"But you were going to open a huge deli with the longest condiment bar in the city."

"What's wrong with this?" retorted Gio defiantly.

"I want a burger," said Hilda, amused by the sparring between Betty and Gio.

"For breakfast?" said Gio.

"You said anything!" said Hilda.

"No problem," said Gio, reaching around and turning on the grill.

"It's too small," said Betty. "You wanted something more!"

Gio stretched out his arms, pointing around the tiny room, "What makes you think I'm not exactly where I want to be?" Gio asked Hilda, "Do you want fries with that?"

Amused, Hilda chuckled, "No."

"French fries!" said Betty, her eyes gleaming. "That's what I want! I want fries! I haven't had fries in years! Oh, please, please, please, can I have some fries?"

"This early?" said Gio. "No one wants eggs?"

"It's not the morning in Vienna. French fries are what I want!"

"Okay, you got it." Gio clapped his hands and spun around to turn on the fryer.

Feeding Betty was always a delight for Gio, but today she looked so scrawny it made him ecstatic to prepare her breakfast.

"Have you given up on your five year plan?" asked Betty.

"I like it here fine," said Gio. "This little place is fine."

"What happened to your ambitions?"

"I'm _happy_!" exclaimed Gio, hands on his hips.

"Don't settle for this," pushed Betty. "Don't forget your goals."

"I'm not," said Gio defensively.

"Gio," cried Betty, "is this all you want?"

Eyes flashing, Gio said, "You've haven't seen me in years and yet you think you know what I want?"

"Ha!" said Betty, pleased she had hit a nerve. "Just like you, in London! How come it's alright for you to remind me of my goals but I can't remind you of yours?"

Unwilling to admit she had a point, Gio glared at Betty then stepped out to fetch the ingredients.

The standoff between them was soon forgotten as he prepared the food and the room filled up with appetizing aromas.

They ate the delicious breakfast together in the sunny kitchen, listening to Gio's upbeat Caribbean music, talking, joking, laughing, and reminiscing. After breakfast, Betty and Hilda helped Gio at the sink washing up the dishes.

When the kitchen was tidied up, Gio stripped off his apron and they trooped back to the dining room. Betty dug her wallet out of her purse to pay Gio.

"It's on the house," said Gio cheerfully. "There's no need for you to pay me."

"But Gio," said Betty. "I insist! You're running a business and you need the money. How much would it be?"

"Nothing," said Gio. "Less than twenty dollars. Don't worry about it."

"Do you take euros?" said Betty, riffling through her wallet. "Sorry, I came straight from Austria."

"No, I don't take euros," said Gio. "Please, put your wallet away."

Betty pulled out a credit card. "Do you take this kind?"

"Yes, of course." Taking the card, Gio stepped behind the bar and swiped it through the machine.

"Oh," said Gio, staring at the machine. "That's strange."

"What?" said Betty, walking behind the bar to look over Gio's shoulder. "What does it say?"

"Rejected."

"What!" exclaimed Betty. "That's ridiculous. Give it to me."

Gio handed it back to Betty and she examined it.

"Oh, my mistake," said Betty. "I canceled this one. Usurious interest rates! I'm going to teach _them_ a lesson. Throw it out."

Betty pulled out another card from her wallet and handed it to Gio. "This is the right one."

"You don't have to pay," said Gio, taking the card from Betty and holding it.

"Yes I do. Do it."

Gio swiped the card through the machine. "That's strange."

"What?" said Betty, pushing Gio out of the way and peering at the machine.

"It's rejected too," said Gio, handing it back to Betty.

"But that one should work," said Betty, looking at the card intently. "This is the one I was going to buy my clothes with."

Pulling her phone out of her purse, Betty turned the card over and dialed the help number.

"Hello, my name is Betty Meade and I have a problem with my card."

While Betty talked on the phone, Hilda and Gio walked around the restaurant's dining room and Gio told Hilda the adventure behind each of the broken surf boards that decorated the walls.

"Surfing is incredible," said Gio, enthusiastically demonstrating for Hilda how he'd dig his hands into the waves, leap up on the board, and balance there, his powerful legs bent and arms outstretched. "I forget all my problems and it's just me loving that monster wave. I'm flying. It may be only a few moments, but time stops and it feels like an eternity. When I'm riding a wave, I'm in heaven."

As soon as Betty hung up the phone Hilda and Gio went back to the bar.

Hilda looked at Betty expectantly. "What happened?"

"It turns out that Daniel made a rather large purchase on it this morning!"

"I thought you said this card can't be maxed out," said Hilda.

"Turns out it can be if the purchase is big enough. He made it at a jewelry store in Italy."

"Italy!" said Hilda, flabbergasted. "What's he doing there?"

"Shopping! This store is a place we went to together, on our honeymoon. It's one of the jewelry shops on Pont Vecchio. You know that bridge, Gio?"

"Of course," said Gio. "Been there, didn't do it. Way too expensive. Window-shopped."

Betty held out her arm and showed off the chunky gold chain bracelet. "Daniel bought me this there. I wanted the charm bracelet but he said that was for kids, so he bought me this instead."

"It's nice," said Gio. "Classy."

"I don't think so. I wanted charms and he bought me a chain. Symbolic, don't you think?"

"I think you're over-thinking it," said Hilda. "It's a lovely bracelet. So, you found out he bought jewelry this morning? Expensive jewelry? You know what that means."

"What does it mean?" asked Betty. "Something for the bimbo?"

"No! For you!" said Hilda. "A Kobe special! He's going to give you an expensive ring to make up for the, uh, situation."

Betty cried out in frustration, "The _dumbass_ maxed out my card to buy me a make-up gift? He maxed out my card without telling me?"

"In fairness, he did try to call you," said Hilda. "But you deleted all his messages without listening to them."

"Oh, I forgot about those," said Betty, calming down. "That must be it! He must have bought me that charm bracelet I wanted, and at least a dozen of the charms. The charms are very expensive. Each one is decorated with diamonds and other precious gems. They're meant to be purchased one at a time."

"Look what happened," said Hilda. "You chewed him out on the plane and he paid attention. He figured out he needs to give you the gift you wanted, not the one he wanted to give you."

"Oh," said Betty, tapping her lip with a finger. "And, he remembered! It's sweet he went all the way to Pont Vecchio to get me the charm bracelet I picked out."

"He's trying to get you back" said Hilda, noticing Gio pained expression. "Are you going to forgive him?"

"I don't know yet," said Betty. "I don't know. I need some time to think."

"How about I take you on a tour?" said Gio. "I know all the places tourists don't know about, things that are off the beaten track."

"I can't go out," cried Betty. "I don't want to be seen with you!"

"Me?" said Gio, indignantly. "What's _wrong_ with me?"

"My ex-boyfriend!" exclaimed Betty. "Just _think_ how that would look!"

"Would you stop calling me that!" retorted Gio, red-faced. "I was never your boyfriend. I think I would know if I was."

"Whatever," said Betty, flustered and annoyed. "Unfortunately, that particular fact doesn't matter to anyone!"

"Hey," shouted Gio. "It matters to _me_!"

"Uh, excuse me," said Hilda. "But I'm feeling a little tired. You two can do whatever you want. I'm going to go back to the Lodge to lie down. Betty, what happened about the scooters?"

"Nothing happened," said Betty. "She put me on hold so I hung up."

"I have a bed," said Gio, pointing behind the bar. "Behind there is my bedroom. You're welcome to use it if you'd like."

Startled, Betty turned and stared where Gio pointed. His bedroom was _right_ _there_.

Gio glanced from Hilda to Betty.

"No, thank you," said Hilda, noticing the direction of Betty's gaze too. "It was delicious but the hamburger's not sitting well. I want to go to the Lodge. I'll just hop on my scooter and I'll be there in five minutes."

"Well, if that's what you want to do," said Gio, heading towards the kitchen, "at least let me give you a ride. I'll meet you at the front door."

Hilda waited under the green and white awning while Betty watched through the window, and they soon heard the noisy revving of a powerful engine. Emerging from around the hedge on his sleek motorcycle, Gio skidded to a stop in front of Hilda. Thrilled, Hilda hopped on behind him. Flashing a huge smile and a thumbs-up to Betty, she wrapped her arms tightly around Gio's bare muscular chest.

Betty watched through the restaurant's front window as Gio and Hilda, hair flying, roared off down the gravel lane and around the corner, leaving a cloud of dust hanging in the air.

Then, trembling with anticipation, Betty sat at the bar to await Gio's return.


	8. Mango? Blueberry? Pineapple? Strawberry?

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 8: Mango? Blueberry? Pineapple? Strawberry?

Sitting at the bar, Betty was examining herself in the bar's mirror and pushing strands of hair into the hair clip when she heard the roar of Gio's motorcycle coming towards the restaurant. Her chestnut brown hair, the scarlet flower beside her face, the white tank top with a hint of red bra peeking out, and the bright floral sarong skirt made her feel feminine and pretty, pleasing her.

Abruptly, the noisy engine cut off and she heard the kitchen door slam. Startled, Betty jerked around towards the kitchen, grabbing the bar to stop from falling off her stool.

"Hello," called Gio from the kitchen. "I'm back!"

"I'm in here," called Betty, nervously smoothing her skirt.

Appearing suddenly in the kitchen doorway, his long brown hair tousled and tanned body relaxed, Gio lounged against the doorframe and smiled at her with an impish grin.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" asked Gio. "Is there anything you want?"

"I'm okay," squeaked Betty, swallowing. He looked amazing.

"What do you want to do?" Gio kicked off his flip-flops and padded over to the bar, jumping on the stool beside Betty.

"I don't know," said Betty, shrinking away nervously. "What do you want to do?"

"Hmm," said Gio, leaning an elbow on the bar and smiling at Betty. "We could go out somewhere."

"No," said Betty firmly. "We better stay here. I don't want anyone taking photos of us."

"Want to swim? I can take you to a private beach."

"Can't. I don't have a suit."

"I can lend you something to wear."

"No, let's stay here." Betty's knuckles were white from gripping the bar. "It's too dangerous to go out."

"You need to relax," said Gio. "You need to forget all that stuff."

"I want to relax," said Betty, flustered by Gio's steady gaze, the pitch of her voice rising. "That's why I came here, but it's been such a nightmare. It's hard to relax!"

Gio stood up and went around behind the bar. "How about a drink?"

"Gio, it isn't even nine yet!" giggled Betty nervously.

"You said you're on Vienna time," said Gio. "It can be happy hour, if you want it to be."

"No, thanks," said Betty. "I don't want a drink."

Gio squatted down and opened a cupboard under the bar that held a safe. He unlocked the safe and pulled out a small oblong biscuit tin and put it onto the bar in front of Betty. He took the lid off the tin revealing several small plastic bags. Gio pulled one out and set it on the bar. Betty thought the bag's contents looked like oregano.

"What is that?" asked Betty suspiciously.

"You can't guess?" Gio brushed the bag with a finger, flattening it so Betty could see inside more easily.

"I don't think it's oregano," said Betty, looking up at Gio.

"You're right, it isn't," said Gio. "The island's best. Interested?"

"No," said Betty, disapprovingly. "Definitely not."

"Do you want something else?" said Gio. "I could probably get whatever you want."

"Gio," cried Betty. "Since when do you do this stuff? _Why_ do you do this stuff?"

"I like it," said Gio. "It helps me relax and forget my problems. Why not enjoy all the good things life has to offer? I get my pleasure from where I can, when I can. In moderation, of course."

"But drugs are bad," said Betty. "That's why it's a crime."

"And why is it a crime?" Gio tapped the bag. "How does this harm anyone?"

"Gangs, robberies, turf wars, murders, smuggling," listed Betty rapidly. "There are lots of reasons why drugs are bad. That's why we have a war on drugs."

"America's war on drugs causes more problems than the drugs themselves! This stuff is less harmful than alcohol or tobacco."

"But think of all the crime it causes," cried Betty, "that's the problem."

"It's so easy to grow," said Gio. "How would any of that apply if I had a couple of plants out back?"

Stunned, Betty gasped and stared wide-eyed at Gio. "You …?"

Crossing his arms and staring back, Gio frowned and said, "Hypothetically speaking."

Brows furrowed, Betty looked at Gio. "But there _has_ to be a reason for the war on drugs."

"There is," said Gio. "Because people in law enforcement need laws to enforce. Law-makers make more laws, not throw out ones that do more harm than good. So, it's up to law-abiding citizens to change things, but it's hard for them to speak up about something that's a crime."

"I never thought about it quite like that," said Betty, doubtfully.

"Betty, you're going to be working at the UN, and it's vital that you check the facts and think for yourself. Open your mind, don't always accept American propaganda."

"Maybe … I'll be working at the UN."

"You will."

"I promise you, I'll always think for myself. But I'm not interested."

Gio packed up the biscuit tin and squatted down to lock it in the safe.

Gio looked so different, mused Betty, with his long hair, earrings, and all-over tan. And he was acting different too; content to be running a tiny restaurant on a remote island, surfing all the time, riding a flashy motorcycle, and now here he was telling her shocking ideas about drugs and politics. It was so strange. It occurred to her that Daniel never had any ideas about politics.

Why had Gio changed? What made him change? What happened to his ambitions? And why had his wife left him? It was unbelievable. How could he have changed so much in less than two years?

And yet, even though he was so different, when she looked into his eyes she could see something there, something she recognized from before.

"What are we going to do?" said Gio. "We have to do something. Do you want to play scrabble?"

"I figured out what I want."

"What?"

"I want a milkshake!"

"Now, we're talking!" Gio whooped and clapped his hands. "What flavor do you want?"

"Hmm," said Betty, tapping her chin. "I want them all. How to choose? How to choose? I haven't had a milkshake for so long."

"Mango? Blueberry? Pineapple? Strawberry?"

"I know," said Betty, eyes gleaming. "Chocolate!"

Gio prepared her big chocolate milkshake, extra creamy and frothy, slipped a festive striped straw into it, and set it in front of Betty with a flourish.

Betty sucked it down greedily, moaning rapturously.

"Ow," cried Betty after several gulps, clutching her head. "Brain freeze!"

"Slow down!" laughed Gio, pleased. "We've got all day."

"This tastes like a gazillion calories!"

"And … does that mean good?"

"Yeah! The best," squealed Betty. "Splendiferous!"

While Betty drank the milkshake Gio selected some lively reggae music from his collection and turned it on, cranking up the volume up until they were both feeling energized by it.

Snapping his fingers, Gio skipped and stepped rhythmically around the dining room lifting chairs and pushing tables into the corners of the room, opening up space for dancing on the shiny black and white tiled floor.

With her eyes following him, Betty unconsciously marveled at Gio's toned physique and effortless grace, and sucked hungrily at the milkshake, noisily slurping up every last drop.

Hearing her finish the drink, Gio danced towards Betty with a little flourish and bowed to her, holding out his hand. "Will you give me the pleasure of joining me in a dance?"

Hastily wiping her chocolaty lips with the back of her hand, Betty smiled and slipped off the stool.

After they skipped a couple of steps, Betty groaned, "I'm too full. And I don't know how to dance. You have to pick something easier, something slower."

Gio left Betty in the center of the room and went to select different music, choosing a romantic slow-dance mix.

Returning to her, Gio placed his hands on her hips, gently swaying her back and forth in a simple pattern to the slow beat. She looped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. His touch was so light she could just barely feel his fingertips caressing her back.

The dancing's effect on Betty, her belly full of the delicious, forbidden milkshake, her mind entranced by the yearning, beguiling music, and her body surrounded by Gio's strong arms, was magical, heavenly. The tension in her body melted away and she relaxed. Betty sighed.

Gio felt her breath on his neck and looked down to see her expression.

Betty lifted her head and met his gaze. An alarmingly pleasurable sensation surged through her as she discovered his tempting lips so close to hers. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Of course," purred Gio, his pleased grin showing deep dimples, "is it working?"

"Oh, be serious," said Betty tartly. "If I slept with you I'd be no better than Daniel."

"I'd respect your virtue more," challenged Gio with a smile, "If I didn't think you were going to just turn around and lord it over him."

Giggling, Betty reddened and slapped Gio's arm. "Good god, Gio, what an awful thing to say."

"If I'm wrong," murmured Gio, exhaling deeply, swaying her gently, "then I take it back."

Deciding to ignore his provocative retraction, Betty relaxed and danced lazily, comfortable in Gio's embrace, following him and letting the music transport her. Each time Gio swung her around his long silky hair brushed her arm making her skin tingle and she pondered letting go of him so she could touch it. But she didn't, because she didn't want to let go of him. "I bet you dance like this with all the pretty girls that come in here."

"No," said Gio firmly with an innocent look, shaking his head, "certainly not."

"No?" murmured Betty, studying his face, finding his features different from before, yet still familiar, right, more excited now than worried by the dangerous nearness of his mouth.

"I only dance like _this_, with the ones both very beautiful and rich."

Flattered and amused, Betty laughed heartily, tossing her head and swirling her sarong skirt flirtatiously around her bare legs.

"Don't laugh," said Gio, grinning. "I'm in demand! In the high season you have to book me weeks in advance. How do you think I finance my extravagant lifestyle?"

Rolling her eyes at his scandalous boasting, Betty giggled and commanded, "Hold me. Dance me." She closed her eyes and tucked her face under his chin, surrendering to his guidance and allowing him to move her around the tables and chairs.

In a low, caramel-smooth voice Gio counted into her ear, "_One_, two, three, four, and _one_, two, three, four," like a hypnotist, as they danced to the music's pulse, bodies perfectly matched. Soon all cares receded from their thoughts and then all thoughts receded from their minds, as though by magic each had entered the other's secret dream. Gio rested his cheek against her hair and carefully led her around, from one end of the room to the other, into the space behind the bar and out, towards the kitchen and back again.

With their arms around each other, her warm cheek on his smooth chest, the thudding of his joyful heart in her ear, and his fingertips lightly caressing the small of her back, they slowly circled and re-circled the room, swaying and grooving to the compelling music, all the while becoming imperceptibly closer to each other.


	9. Spaghetti and Meatballs

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 9: Spaghetti and Meatballs

"I wish I had better memories of you," said Betty. "When I think back, all I remember is you being sweet and me taking advantage of you."

"I was hurt," said Gio, hands on her waist, moving to the beat of the music. "I waited for you for such a long time and then nothing happened."

"I was so wrapped up in Henry," said Betty, "and after him, myself."

"I always seemed to be on the outside looking in," lamented Gio. "You never gave me a chance, not even one date."

Gio held her in his arms, swaying them to the slow rhythm of the music. Feeling he was in a dream, he smoothly moved them back and forth, circling and turning, stroking her back, drawing her into him, breathing in her fragrance, feeling her every breath.

Sluggish and drowsy from her full stomach, Betty rested her head on Gio's shoulder, and let her thoughts drift over the past.

"Since I began to regret we never dated," said Betty, "it has bugged me even more that when the tabloids write about my former lovers, you're included."

"Yeah," said Gio. "I've seen some of the stories. It's that picture Marc and Amanda took, they love printing it."

Betty sighed. "I wish I had happier memories of us."

"Me too, B," murmured Gio. "Me too."

"It's so unfair. I'm paying again and again for a sin I never enjoyed."

Sighing, minds wandering freely, they embraced each other and danced lazily, relishing the unexpected chance they had to be together, taking pleasure in a rare moment of utter peace and contentment. The restaurant's walls shielded them from the outside world and the sweet plaintive music blanketed them in a safe cocoon.

"We can rewrite the past," said Gio. "We'll change it."

"How?" said Betty. "What's done is done."

"Haven't you ever wanted a do-over?"

"Of course, lots of times," said Betty, giggling. "You know _me_."

"Then, let's do it," said Gio. "Let's see, when do you want to start?"

"I don't know," said Betty, puzzled. "What do you mean by when?"

"How about the night of the junior high dance?" said Gio. "Almost four years ago. You remember the dance?"

"Of course," laughed Betty. "You helped me steal my trophy. I was such a badass!"

"You were." Gio chuckled. "That night you hinted I should ask you out, but I didn't."

"Yes, I remember that I did, even though I was still grieving Henry. You guessed that."

"This time, forget Henry," said Gio. "We'll make a happy memory together, the way we wished it'd turned out. Imagine we're back then, on your doorstep. That night."

"Okay," said Betty. "We're on the doorstep."

"You just hinted I should ask you out, and I said, 'Betty, how about next Saturday?' and you s-"

"Yes!"

"I said, 'Let's have some fun and show up that snobby waiter,'" said Gio. "Would you like to go to the Pemberley Inn?"

"Yes!"

"What time did I pick you up?" asked Gio, continuing to sway them gently to the music.

"I don't know … eight o'clock?"

"That Saturday morning I took out all my dress shirts," said Gio, "all two of them, but neither were good enough, so I bought one. What color was it?"

"Black," said Betty.

"Black, really?"

"I liked you wearing black."

"What color tie?"

"No tie."

"Black shirt, no tie. It took me an hour to decide how I'd button it."

"Every time I caught a glimpse of your chest it made me swoon." Betty rested her hand on Gio's bare chest, tracing a fingertip lightly from his Adam's apple downwards.

Unwilling to let his chest recede from the exquisite sensation which excited every nerve in his body, Gio inhaled until Betty lifted her finger at his solar plexus. Careful, don't rush, thought Gio, exhaling quietly, subduing his reckless impulses. Do not dare alarm her, just talk, he commanded himself.

"So it was time well spent," said Gio, recovering control. "What did you wear?"

"A pink dress," said Betty. "I loved wearing pink then."

"I was all ready by six so I killed time wandering the streets," said Gio. "I decided to buy you flowers and bought red roses. After a couple of blocks I thought you might think they were silly so I left them on a bench. After wandering several more blocks I reconsidered and went back to get them but they were gone. I had plenty of time so I went back to the flower shop and this time I bought yellow roses because they smelled nice. Then I went to your street and I waited until eight. What did you do?"

"Hilda did my hair and nails," said Betty. "She curled my hair so it fell in long waves. I put on the pink dress and waited on the sofa in the living room for at least an hour, trying to not move my hands because I was afraid I'd tear a hole in my pantyhose with the nails. I was such a klutz. Hmm, what happened next?"

"At eight o'clock precisely, I knocked on your door," said Gio. "I could hardly breathe. I held the roses so tight the paper around them got all crumpled."

"As soon as I heard you knock, I lunged for the door," said Betty, "to beat Hilda to it. I said, 'Gio! I love yellow roses. They're my favorite!' although they weren't until that moment."

"You were a vision in that pink dress. I was mesmerized by the ruffling flounces."

"Ah, the flounces. I'd forgotten about the flounces."

"We took a cab to the restaurant and the snobby waiter sat us in that table near the window. What did I order?"

"Steak! How did you take it?"

"Rare. I always order rare. You ordered spaghetti and meatballs."

"Yum," squealed Betty, hugging Gio. "I love spaghetti. You _know_ what I like."

"And I was thinking, Betty, don't order the spaghetti! I could make you spaghetti that would blow your mind. But I didn't say it aloud."

Betty laughed. "We talked and we laughed. We had a great time. You always made me laugh. That's what I remember the most."

"I spent the whole cab ride back wondering whether I should try to kiss you goodnight or not."

"Even after I laughed at all your jokes and smiled at you so much?"

"I didn't want to get slapped again," laughed Gio.

"What did you do?" Betty looked up at Gio. "I wanted you to kiss me!"

"I decided to ask," said Gio. "When we got to your doorstep, I said, 'Betty, may I kiss you goodnight?' and you s-"

"Yes!"

"I was still terribly nervous, so I just pecked your cheek very lightly."

"Kiss me," said Betty, gazing up.

"I already did," said Gio, smiling at her tenderly.

"Kiss me!" said Betty.

"When do you mean?" Gio said. "Now or then?"

"Now," said Betty, tilting her head and closing her eyes. "I want to remember exactly how it felt."

Gio put a fingertip under Betty's chin and, afraid of breaking the fairytale mood, gingerly, very lightly, brushed his lips on her cheek.

Her hands tingling, Betty could barely feel his warm breath and soft lips on her cheek. "That was nice. Our first date is a wonderful memory. What happened after that?"

"I couldn't believe we were finally dating! I was walking on air, no, _dancing_ on air. I came by your desk on Monday morning and I asked you if you wanted to see a concert at the Blue Note. You s-"

"Yes!"

"Then I scrambled to get tickets to the earliest available event."

"Skip that one," said Betty, swallowing. "Go to the next."

"The weather was nice so I invited you to the park. I packed a picnic basket. Chicken salad sandwiches, black and white cookies, and-"

"Skip," said Betty, her stomach cold, heavy. "Hurry. After that. What came after that?"

"I don't remember exactly," said Gio. "Help me out. What do you want?"

"You invited me to your place," said Betty, breathless and wide-eyed.

"Oh, that date," said Gio, flashing a smile. "A vivid memory. I must have taken you out to dinner first. Where did we go?"

"No, not out. You made me dinner at your place," said Betty, rushing the words out. "You wouldn't tell me what it was going to be. You loved surprising me. What did you make?"

"Fettuccine Alfredo," said Gio. "I could make it in my sleep but I went out shopping three times, searching for the best kind of Romano cheese, and buying candles and matches."

"I was a half-hour early," said Betty. "I felt conspicuous in the hallway so I knocked as soon as I got there."

"I'd spent all week cleaning my apartment." Gio chuckled. "A one room apartment! But still, I wasn't ready. I tried to keep you from noticing that the sink was full of dirty dishes from making the sauce."

"When I came in …" Betty jerked her head, darting her eyes around urgently. "What did I see when I came in?"

"Just a square room," said Gio, "the door from the hall opened right into the middle of it, there was a window on the right, overlooking a fire escape, a sofa bed and dresser right there, the kitchen that was really just a counter on the left side. The small round dining table was set with a white cloth, candles, and I had two folding chairs pulled up to it."

"The only thing I saw was the sofa bed," said Betty, modestly biting her lip and briefly glancing down. "You took my hand and led me to the stove." She held up her hand to his face, brushing his cheek lightly.

Gio took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

"I was in heaven," said Betty, eyes sparkling. "The sauce smelled divine."

"It was perfect," said Gio. "I twisted a piece of fettuccine on a fork, dipped it into the sauce, held it up for you, and I said, 'Taste this.'"

Gio held his hand up in front of Betty, as if he were holding a fork for her.

"I opened my mouth," said Betty, gulping a breath, "and you fed me. I moaned in ecstasy." Betty moaned and swallowed, touching her fingertips to her mouth. A captivating vision of life with Gio as an endless buffet of carefree delicious occasions filled her mind.

"Bellissimo!" said Gio, kissing his fingers. "Heavy cream, fresh-grated Romano cheese, a splash of white wine, extra-virgin …" Gio squeezed Betty's waist playfully making her squeal, "… olive oil, a few ounces of truffle oil, a pinch of nutmeg, cracked pep-"

"Gio, I love you!"

"What?" Gio paused and studied Betty's serious expression.

"I love you!"

"I-" Gio blushed and shook his head. "Then I laughed and said, 'Do you really mean that or are you just angling for another bite?'"

"Yes!"

His arms still around her, Gio stopped dancing and gazed at Betty expectantly.

The tingling sensation in her hands was growing stronger, distracting her. "… and yes," said Betty, light-headed, her mind muddled, the words tumbling over each other. "And you say … uh … said …"

"Betty, I love you. I've always loved you and I always will."

"Take me," said Betty, letting go of Gio's neck and clenching her prickling hands.

"What?" said Gio.

"Take me!"

Gio laughed. "I said, 'I couldn't possibly do it with someone who uses such an archaic expression.'"

Flustered, Betty grabbed Gio by the shoulders, imploring him, "Make love to me."

Gio laughed. "I said, 'I'm going to have to card you. How old did you say you are?'"

"Screw me!" shouted Betty, shaking Gio.

"Music to my ears," said Gio, grinning. "Succinct, yet so romantic. I said, 'You'll never know how much I've longed to hear you say that. Let's eat.'"

"Forget dinner," cried Betty, her palms clammy. "Now!"

"That got my attention! I immediately turned around and took the sauce off the heat. We had a good laugh about the ruined fettuccine later, but I didn't want to start a fire. I mean, literally start a fire."

"Stop it!" yelled Betty, pounding on Gio's chest. "I want you _now_!"

Gio stared intently at Betty. "When? Then now or now now?"

"Now!" Betty grabbed Gio's arm and began to drag him to his bedroom. "Hurry!"

"Now?" Gio scooped Betty up and took a step towards his bedroom. He was shocked to discover how light she was.

"Are you sure?" said Gio, looking down at Betty's pale, agitated face. "Are you alright?"

"No!" Ashen-faced and sweating, Betty wiggled in Gio's arms. "It's too late!"

Puzzled, Gio set her down and stared at her.

"I just need …" squeaked Betty, turning away from him.

Dizzy, Betty staggered and grabbed the edge of the bar to support herself, glancing around blindly for her purse. The wretched feeling in the pit of her stomach could no longer be ignored.

"I need a Gravol," cried Betty, "before we ..."

Head spinning, Betty stumbled again, covered her mouth and gave a dry heave. She fell on her hands and knees.

"Betty?" said Gio, jumping to her side and squatting down. "What's wrong?"

"A little heartburn," gagged Betty.

Betty shuddered and threw up. Over the next few minutes she threw up every last ounce of her over-full stomach's contents, a stinking, masticated mess of fries, fruit, and chocolate milkshake.

Gio knelt beside her and stroked her back until she was completely done. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor and gathered her onto his lap, cradling her in his arms. Reaching up behind him, he grabbed a bar towel from the counter to wipe her face.

Limp and weak, her ear next to Gio's pounding heart, Betty covered her face with her hands, apologized repeatedly, and wept from shame.


	10. Milk

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 10: Milk

On the restaurant's floor, beside where she threw up, Betty lay quietly, stretched out on her back. Sitting cross-legged, Gio supported her shoulders on his lap, nestling her head between the crook of his arm and his chest.

Rocking gently and murmuring comfortingly, Gio gazed down at her, wiping away tears and vomit from her face with his small soft towel.

"I feel terrible," said Gio. "I made Hilda sick and now you. The milk must have been bad."

"No." Betty shook her head slightly.

Distraught, Gio cried, "How could I have done this?"

"You didn't," moaned Betty. "It wasn't your food. Hilda's not sick."

"She isn't? What do you mean?"

"She was faking it," said Betty, resting her hand on top of Gio's to stop him wiping her face. "She was leaving us alone. She saw what was happening and wanted to give us a chance to talk privately."

"I missed that completely," said Gio. "I guess I wasn't paying too much attention to her."

"That's what she noticed," said Betty. "I did too."

"Oh," said Gio. "I was that obvious."

"Yeah."

"But you can't fake this," said Gio. "I made you sick. I'm sorry."

"I'm not sick," said Betty. "I'm fine."

"You're pretty good at hiding it," said Gio sadly.

Recognizing Gio's old joke, Betty chuckled weakly.

"I'll be fine in a minute. I'm sorry about the mess."

"Don't worry about that," said Gio. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't. " Betty wiped her eyes. "I'm fine."

"Is this how you stay thin?"

"No!" said Betty. "I mean, yes, sometimes. Yes, but I'd never do it to _your_ food."

Gio put his hand on Betty's forehead. "You're warm. I better take you to a clinic. You must've picked up a bug, maybe from the water."

"No," said Betty, looking up at Gio. "It's not necessary."

Cupping her cheek in his hand, Gio frowned, "You really don't want to be seen with me, do you?"

"No, Gio, no!" said Betty, touching his hand. "Yes. But that's not what's wrong with me."

Alarmed, Gio clasped her hand, "Betty, is something wrong?"

Turning her flushed face away, Betty cried, "Gio, I'm pregnant!"

"What?" Gio dropped her hand.

Betty closed her eyes and sighed.

"When were you going to tell me this?" demanded Gio.

"I'm sorry," said Betty.

"This changes everything!" cried Gio, outraged. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Okay, um, how about this?" said Betty, looking up at Gio. "Hi Gio, what a surprise to see you in the Bahamas! By the way, I carelessly let the dumbass knock me up."

Shocked, Gio gaped at Betty.

"I haven't told anybody," said Betty. "Not Hilda. I haven't even told Daniel yet!"

"Oh."

"I teach women about family planning," said Betty, slapping the floor. "And then, it just happens. I wasn't thinking. " She took a breath. "Gio, I'm going to tell you a secret: I'm not perfect."

Gio carefully brushed Betty's hair away from her face and caressed her cheek.

"I know," said Gio. "But you're imperfect just the way I love."

Betty smiled wanly.

"I have a secret too," said Gio, nervously fidgeting with Betty's hair.

Suddenly alert, Betty looked up at him, peering into his face. "What?"

"I don't blame my wife for leaving me."

"You don't?"

"No. I tried, Betty. Really, I tried." Gio sighed. "It wasn't her fault she wasn't you."

"Oh," breathed Betty.

"That's why we left New York. It killed me to keep seeing you. She saw it." Gio rubbed his eyes. "I had to get away from you. I was supposed to forget you. It wasn't fair to be with her and think of you. It hurt her. She was an angel, she didn't deserve that. I am a jerk."

"No!That's not possible." She clasped his hand, intertwining her fingers with his, and squeezed. "You aren't."

"Betty … there's more."

"What?"

"I lied about being happy here. If I was happy, I wouldn't want to surf all the time, ride my bike recklessly, or take drugs. I never wanted to do that before. I shouldn't want to now. It just helps me forget the pain for a little while."

"The pain?"

Gio's voice cracked. "The pain of not having you."

"Oh, Gio," cried Betty. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, it can't be helped."

Betty closed her eyes wearily and Gio gathered her up in his arms, rocking her gently.

"Darling Betty," murmured Gio, relieved and grateful to finally be able to say aloud what his heart had silently whispered so often. "Darling, darling B. I could _never_ forget you. Darling, dearest, I could never forget _you_." Gio stroked her hair and babbled years of pent up endearments while Betty quietly rested. Ignoring the pair, the vigilant Pickles prowled past them silently and disappeared into the kitchen.

"I was hoping if I forgot about this," said Betty, touching a hand to her stomach, "maybe it would go away."

"This isn't happy news? You should be happy."

"I guess I would be, under different circumstances."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I need to think. I came here to get a chance to think."

Gio listened intently.

"I was just about to tell Daniel … I was so excited about telling him … and that's when I found out … he …" Betty put a hand on her burning cheek, "… and …"

"You don't have to say anything," murmured Gio, rocking her and petting her hair.

"I found him out right when … that's why I went ballistic. I'm such a fool."

"Everything's going to be all right."

Betty laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right. I've lost everyone's respect."

"No, don't say that," said Gio. "Don't think that. You haven't."

"If I haven't already," said Betty, "I will. I have to try to make my marriage work."

"Yes, I see, you have to try."

"I owe it to …" Betty laid her hand on her stomach, "… everyone … to try."

"You're going back to Daniel," stated Gio flatly.

"Yes." Betty sighed. "And everyone's going to say I went crawling back to Daniel."

"Betty, he'll never change," said Gio, shaking his head. "He'll hurt you again."

"It's a risk, I know," said Betty. "But I have the name of a therapist. We'll go into therapy."

"He can't be cured. Not from what he's got."

"This therapist has had success," said Betty. "I've seen it first hand. But it depends on whether Daniel wants it enough. I have to give him another chance, one more chance."

"Then go home." Gio tensed, straightening his back and taking his hand off her hair. "Go today. Go back to Daniel. Do the TV show. Get the job."

"Yes, you're right," said Betty, looking up at him, "like always. I don't want to go, but I have to go."


	11. Chocolate

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 11: Chocolate

"Oh dear, I have to get changed," said Betty sadly as she lay in Gio's lap. Both her white tank top and sarong skirt had chocolate vomit on them.

"I have lots of clothes," said Gio. "I can find you something else."

"Sorry," said Betty, inspecting the fabric of the skirt. "This was so pretty and now it's ruined by the chocolate."

"Don't worry," said Gio. "I know how to get food stains out, even chocolate."

"Are my clothes dry?" said Betty, pushing herself to a sitting position. "I don't want to take yours."

"Yes, they're going to be dry," said Gio. "But I can give you something more suitable. It's no problem. There are lots of spare things."

"I'm going to go straight to the airport," said Betty. "I want to wear my clothes."

"Okay, I'll bring them in." Gio stood up and then pulled Betty up. "You go shower."

When Gio brought Betty's clothes to the bathroom, the door was wide open. He could hear the sound of Betty in the shower, hidden behind the curtain.

"Your clothes are here," said Gio, standing in the doorway, raising his voice over the noise of the shower's spray.

"Put them on the counter," called Betty.

Gio stepped into the bathroom and noticed the counter was wet. He pulled a towel out of the cupboard and spread it on the counter, preparing to fold Betty's clothes onto it. He grasped the slippery fabric of the silk blouse and tried to fold it but it kept sliding through his trembling fingers instead.

The sound of the shower's spray stopped. Startled, Gio looked up at the mirror.

"I'm still here," said Gio, overly loud, his attention focused on the reflection of the shower curtain. Only the flimsy curtain separated him from her.

"I know," said Betty.

Dropping the blouse in a heap, Gio heard the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't see Betty's reflection. He forgot to breathe.

"Turn around," said Betty, stepping out of the shower.

Engrossed in a raging internal battle between what he wanted to do and what he should do, Gio didn't move.

"Turn around."

Keeping his eyes closed, Gio slowly turned around and took a step backwards towards the doorway.

"Look at me," demanded Betty.

Gio opened his eyes.

Arms hanging at her side, Betty stood naked in front of him, her wet hair straggling over her shoulders, water dripping down her body everywhere. Her wide brown eyes were locked on his face. Her face was calm, expressionless.

"I want to finish our date," said Betty solemnly. "We still have time."

Gio's eyes traveled downwards from her face, first taking in her full, womanly breasts, then her skinny girlish body. Her flat stomach showed no sign of the pregnancy. Yet.

Her thinness shocked him. He wanted to love her, to care for her, to feed her, to protect her, to make love to her, but at that precise moment, his primary urge was to feed her.

"No," said Gio. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I want to remember exactly how it felt. I want that memory."

"But you're going back."

"Does that matter?"

Gio nodded.

"It doesn't have to!" Betty stepped towards Gio and cooed coquettishly, "Now you're the one who's overdressed."

Gio stepped back.

"What's wrong? Don't you like the way I look?"

"Betty, I love you. It doesn't matter to me what you look like."

"But you think I'm ugly, don't you? I can tell."

"No," said Gio, taking another step back. "I think you're beautiful, but ..."

"But?"

"Too thin."

"I'm trying to be perfect."

"It's wrong for you to be so thin. You're the eater! Why do you do it?"

"I want Daniel to love _me_, no one else."

"He shouldn't care what you weigh."

"Everyone cares. You're the only one who never did. Gio, I want _you_ to love me. Now!"

"I can't. You're going back to Daniel."

"But you said you loved me!"

"I do," said Gio.

"Prove that you love me," said Betty smiling, holding out her hand.

"Having sex with someone does not prove love," said Gio. "Not for me. Not for anyone."

Thinking for a moment, Gio said, "Not for Daniel, either. Sex doesn't mean love. Daniel loves you."

Betty let her hand drop.

Gio reached into the cupboard, pulled out a towel, and held it out to Betty.

Betty didn't move so Gio unfolded the towel and draped it around her, tucking the end in.

"You won't …?"

"No. It would be wrong."

After Gio covered her, Betty embraced him, bursting into tears and sobbing into his shoulder. Anger, frustration, shame, bewilderment, and anguish from her nightmarish situation and the dreadful looming aftermath, set off a torrent of tears.

Holding her, Gio rubbed her back and comforted her, his cheek pressed against her wet hair, murmuring to her, until she eventually ran out of tears.

Released from the crushing burden of tumultuous emotions, Betty looked up at Gio. Raising her hands to his head and running her fingers through his hair, she kissed him, letting the towel fall.

Gio kissed her back for a few moments. Or an eternity. Neither could recall afterward how long the kiss actually lasted. Then he stepped away.

Eyes brimming with tears, Betty stood and watched Gio as he walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.


	12. Remembering the Picnic

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 12: Remembering the Picnic

Gio was pacing by the front door of the hushed restaurant when Betty came out of the bathroom. Carrying her purse in her arms, neatly dressed in the silk blouse, wool slacks, and leather boots, she walked around the bar and towards him

Smiling with bright-red lipstick-coated lips, she had her hair smoothly combed and caught up under the hair clip, with the elegant scarlet hibiscus blossom, missing a few petals, pinned above her ear.

Betty looked around her as she walked, observing the polished wooden bar, its counter, the espresso machine, the jar of biscotti, the ten glass vases holding nine sprigs of hibiscus flowers, the wrought iron tables pushed into the corners of the room with chairs piled upside down on them, the shiny black and white tile floor with a wet patch where the vomit had been, and the broken surf boards displayed on the walls.

"I never heard the stories about the surf boards."

"Hilda can tell you," said Gio, his eyes scanning over her, memorizing her. His mood was somber, unhurried.

"It isn't the same," said Betty quietly. "I want to hear the stories from you."

"Next time," replied Gio. They both knew that a next time was unlikely. "You should go. Do you want me to give you a ride on my bike?"

"No," said Betty. "I don't want to be seen with you."

"I thought … maybe," said Gio. "I'll call a cab."

"No, I don't want them to know I was here."

"I'll call a friend," said Gio. "Will that be okay?"

"No, no need. I'm going to take Hilda's scooter."

"Then drive carefully," said Gio, trying to smile so she'd know it was a joke.

Betty chuckled. "I'll try."

Betty stood and fidgeted with the gold-chain bracelet. "Hilda just texted me. Bobby's team was eliminated so he's flying here tonight. You can expect them to drop by tomorrow morning. Not as early as today."

"That'll be fun," said Gio, his mouth smiled but his eyes did not. "I'm looking forward to seeing them."

"May I keep the hair clip?"

"Of course you may have it," said Gio, his eyes twinkling, "although it'll be expensive to replace."

Betty laughed.

"I'll never be able to wear it," said Betty, "it's too cheap, but I want to keep it. Whenever I wear my hair up I'll imagine it's being held by this clip. The one you gave me."

Betty fumbled with the gold-chain bracelet's clasp, slipped it off her wrist and held it in her palm, stroking it with her thumb.

Gio saw a red scrape around her wrist.

Betty noticed him looking at the mark and smiled. "I was such a badass they cuffed me."

Gio chuckled. "You go, girl."

"I want you to have this," said Betty, holding her hand out and offering him the bracelet.

"I couldn't take it," said Gio, shaking his head. "It's too much."

"Please, take it," said Betty. "I have a feeling I won't need it anymore and I want you to have it."

"Won't Daniel notice it's missing?" said Gio. "It'll cause trouble."

"If he asks," said Betty. "I'll tell him I must have left it somewhere. He'll believe that because it'll be the truth."

Betty took Gio's left hand and fastened the bracelet onto his wrist. "There. It looks good on you."

Gio rotated his wrist slowly sliding the glittering bracelet up and down. "I'll keep it for you. If you want it back, just ask."

"I won't," said Betty. "Do you ever go to New York?"

"Rarely," said Gio. "It's hard to leave the restaurant and anyway, my family and friends like to visit me here."

"Like Bobby and Hilda," said Betty, blushing. "I can't believe how long it took me to figure out it wasn't an accident that we came here. I'm a complete idiot."

Gio smiled. "You should talk to your sister more often."

"I know. I will," said Betty. "But when you do come to New York, you'll visit them, right?"

"Yes, for sure."

"I'll be there," said Betty, gazing into Gio's eyes.

"You will?"

"I will," said Betty. "I want to reminisce with you about that concert at the Blue Note."

"It was a good one," said Gio sadly. "I remember that."

"And the picnic too."

"You'll have to remind me, what was the weather like?"

"Nice," said Betty. She looked out the window. The sun shone brightly, reflecting from the choppy waves and the shiny palm leaves bending in the ocean breeze. Happy families with joyful toddlers were playing on the beach and splashing in the water. She could hear the faint sound of seagull's cries and children's shouts. "A day like this."

"Now I remember," said Gio, his gaze following Betty's.

"And Rome," whispered Betty.

"Ah, Rome," exhaled Gio, his eyes glistening, "don't get me started."

"We had such good times there." Betty wiped her eyes. "I'd better go."

Betty gazed at Gio, taking a lingering admiring look at his long tousled hair that revealed a glimpse of gold hoop earrings, his tanned, muscular body, board shorts, and bare feet. She studied his face, the curve of his mouth, the color of his lips, and his sweet, sad, brown eyes with a depth and expression that mirrored her own.

"I'm going to ask Hilda to take a picture of you," said Betty. "I want you to look just like you do this minute. Will you pose for her?"

"Sure, of course," said Gio. He put his hand on the doorknob. "Ready?"

"In a minute. Hilda's going to put the picture in her vacation photo album but before she glues it down I want to write something on the back of it."

"What?"

"Today's date, April 4, 2012, and 'Giovanni Rossi, Betty's ex-boyfriend' is that okay?"

"Oh," said Gio, "Betty's ex-boyfriend. Okay. Yes. B, I'd like that. Thanks for asking."

"I'm ready," said Betty.

Gio held the door open wide for Betty. "After you."

"No, stay inside," said Betty. "I'm fine."

"Keep your chin up," said Gio. "Stick up for yourself. Don't settle."

"Yes, I will," said Betty.

"Happy birthday in a couple of weeks. I'll bake you a cake. I'll make it the day's special."

"Thank you. I'll imagine eating a piece. Thank you for everything."

Betty quickly hugged and kissed Gio goodbye, stepped out the door, and hurried across the road to Hilda's scooter. She wheeled it to the road and stopped to look back at the restaurant.

Crowded between leaning palms and dense hibiscus shrubs, the restaurant's cheery green and white awning flapped and snapped in the brisk wind, and its yellow paint and whimsical white and pink sign marked what Betty thought was the cutest, littlest, _finest_ Italian-American-Bahamian restaurant this side of paradise.

Taking a deep breath as she faced the treacherous scooter, she steeled herself and then mounted it, riding slowly and sedately down the gravel lane, past the thick lush forest, and around the bend.

Looking out the window, Gio watched Betty cross the road and pick up the scooter, shrinking back when she looked at the restaurant so she wouldn't see him, moving forward again when she turned her attention back to the scooter.

He observed her proudly as she conquered her fear of the scooter and rode along the lane, watching until she turned the corner and rode out of sight.

He continued to look at where she'd disappeared long after the small puff of gravel dust she raised blew away, unaware of the faint wistful smile lingering on his wet face.


	13. Espresso Gone Cold

Today's Special is the Jerk-Chicken Salad - Chapter 13: Espresso Gone Cold

At dawn, under a rising blistering-hot September sun, five months after Betty had unexpectedly visited his Bahamian restaurant, Gio turned his motorcycle onto the gravel lane leading him back to it. He gunned the engine, sending gravel scattering, and raced over the lane's washboard bumps, enjoying the feel of the brisk breeze whipping his hair back from his face.

Behind him were the day's groceries, jugs of milk, bread, other perishables, and also, as usual, the New York Times newspaper.

He parked the motorcycle at the back, beside the kitchen door, unloaded the groceries into the fridge, cut ten sprigs of hibiscus blossoms and filled the glass vases, lined up and waiting for them on the bar, and then walked to the front door intending to flip the sign from closed to open. He paused, his hand poised above the sign, considering when to open. Perhaps later, he thought, it was a good wind for surfing. He didn't flip the sign, postponing the decision until after reading the paper.

He went into the kitchen and poured a dish of cream for Pickles and brought it out and set it on the bar. Purring, Pickles crouched over the cream, his pink tongue darting, lapping it up greedily.

He laid the newspaper on the bar's counter, took out a cup and saucer, pulled himself an espresso, and took a biscotti out of the jar, setting it on the saucer.

Then Gio sat at the counter and picked up the paper. It was Wednesday, September 5, 2012. Wednesday. Hump day, chuckled Gio.

He spied the name Meade on the front page. Story and picture on page five. He couldn't read any more because all the letters suddenly began to dance and jiggle, they wouldn't sit still. The paper rustled in his shaking hands. He turned the pages swiftly, unable to concentrate on counting them and in too much of a hurry to try to read the page numbers.

Then he saw the picture.

Betty.

Smiling.

And Daniel.

"Betty!" uttered Gio aloud.

Scarcely able to breathe, Gio folded the paper very carefully, scanning every detail of the photograph.

The picture showed Betty at a press conference inside the UN, smiling triumphantly, her hand raised to her ear, and Daniel, standing beside her.

He could see on her wrist, beside her ear, a charm bracelet, with at least a dozen intricate, gemstone-encrusted charms dangling from it. She got the bracelet, thought Gio, and the charms are as unique, and precious, and whimsical, as she is.

Betty's hair was swept up into a chignon, her hand raised because she was pushing strands of hair behind her ear. Her hair is up, does that mean she thought of his hair clip, wondered Gio. Did she think of him?

"B," whispered Gio to her image. "I'm thinking of you."

The picture showed Daniel standing beside Betty with his hand on her arm, gazing at her with devotion, pride, and solicitous concern. Betty's sixth-month pregnancy was clearly visible. Her face was filled out, no longer gaunt. She glowed. She's healthy. Daniel loves her and he's looking after her. She looks happy, thought Gio. She is happy.

After examining the picture minutely, Gio turned his attention to the story.

"Meade Lands Prestigious UN Post' – Reuters - September 5, 2012. Story by Alain Jeffries, staff reporter"

"Officials at the UN announced the appointment of Meade Foundation's Chief Executive Officer, Betty Meade, to the 'Oppressive Cultures and Women' Task Force today. Despite a strong initial lead in the competition, Ms. Meade lost the position in April to the late Rajpal Singh, who was tragically killed in a car accident in New York two weeks ago.

"Earlier this year, the scandal caused by her husband's infidelity and the widely circulated humiliating YouTube videos of Ms. Meade's air-traffic security breach seriously undermined Ms. Meade's credibility as a candidate costing her the post. But the tide of public opinion turned dramatically after her calm and dignified appearance the next day on 'Good Morning New York', when she spoke passionately and eloquently for the task force. During the months after Ms. Singh's appointment, Ms. Meade's admirable fortitude under considerable stress garnered her sympathy from even the most jaded and cynical of New York's influential elite and tabloid reporters.

"Ms. Meade's gracious behavior after her defeat to Ms. Singh underscored the high respect the two women shared for each other. Ms. Meade remained a steadfast supporter of the committee's work and was so devoted to Ms. Singh that she was invited to eulogize her friend at the funeral, a rare and unusual honor. Ms. Meade's heartfelt and moving tribute to Ms. Singh touched the hearts all who witnessed it.

"In response to the appointment Ms. Meade said, 'It is an awesome honor to be able to follow in Rajpal's footsteps. I have been given so much in my life, and my dearest wish is to model myself after her selfless example and give back generously, dedicating myself to improving the lives of girls and women in countries around the world, and here in America, too.'"

His espresso gone cold and biscotti untouched, Gio gazed at the photo and reread the article, the words swimming before his eyes, until he knew it by heart. Then he folded up the newspaper and set it aside.

Working and living, thought Gio. Doing well.

She's on her way to accomplishing the great things she was destined to do.

Working and living. Making the world a better place.

Gio stood up and searched his music collection, looking for the romantic slow-dance mix he had played for Betty. He put it on and turned up the volume. The melodic, familiar music resonated in the empty restaurant.

He leant down and opened the cupboard under the bar's counter, and opened the safe inside it. He pulled out the gold-chain bracelet and put it on his left wrist, rubbing the polished metal with his fingers.

He leant down again and reached back into the safe, pulling out the small oblong biscuit tin and setting it in front of him.

Then the all-too-familiar pain of love and longing for Betty welled up and burst out of the special place in his broken heart, invading and permeating his entire being.

Struggling to breathe, Gio sat alone in his deserted restaurant, resting his elbows on the bar and his face in his hands, motionless.

The hopelessness and futility of his miserable predicament drove him into a lengthy and wrenching spell of profound introspection. Anger, frustration, shame, bewilderment and anguish raged within him until, after a long while, he came to think one thought, a single thought of striking simplicity: He loved her, he had always loved her, but he would not always love her. He would no longer love her, some day.

It comforted him that she had asked him if she could call him her ex-boyfriend. He took it as proof that they had indeed shared something real and special. There was a bond between them as unique and precious as a charm, a charm he could hold and treasure during the dark days ahead when his sublime love for her would inevitably weaken and begin to slip away leaving in its place a hollow emptiness at his core. It was time to start preparing for the inevitable loss, a loss he neither welcomed nor expected but would face squarely. It was time to let go and move on.

Some day, some time, his fettered heart would again be free. Free to suffer new agonies and to know new joys. But the prospect of free heart did not console him, yet; at this moment, he felt grief for a true love denied.

By the time he roused himself, the music had stopped and the restaurant was silent. He slowly, sadly, slipped the gold chain off his wrist and tucked it and the unopened biscuit tin back into the safe. Then he straightened up, put on some lively music, marched to the front door, and flipped the sign from closed to open.

He got a fresh cup of espresso, picked up the newspaper, took a breath, and folded it open to the back pages. He scanned the headings looking for the section with the title, "Businesses for Sale - Manhattan - Restaurants." _The End._


End file.
